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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467822">so this is how rumors get started</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicTonsillitis/pseuds/ChronicTonsillitis'>ChronicTonsillitis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bellamy "Two Brain Cells" Blake, F/M, Fluff, General idiocy, Misunderstandings, Note the rating change, Pining, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, jroth can pry fluffy canon aus out of my cold dead hands</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:41:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicTonsillitis/pseuds/ChronicTonsillitis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“So how’d it go with the Commander?”</p><p>Clarke lets out a long huff, falling next to him on the double bed. Bellamy looks over at her, confused by the pinched expression on her face.</p><p>“Bellamy,” Clarke says, eyes closed, fingers massaging the skin between her eyebrows. “Why does everyone think we’re married?”</p><p>****<br/>Or: Bellamy is not as fluent in Trig as he thinks he is</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The 100 Fix-Its and Rewrites</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. How It Started</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>1. Lincoln kom Trikru</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In Lincoln’s defense, there is no way for him to know what Bellamy is asking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, man,” Bellamy calls to him, over the shoulder of a member of the Trishanakru ambassador’s party. The Mountain fell only a few days ago, but some of the Krus already sent groups to parlay with Skaikru, trying to feel out an alliance. “What’s the Trig word for partner?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lincoln’s eyebrows furrow.”What kind of partner?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh—” Bellamy shrugs, looking around. His eyes catch on something and he jerks a thumb behind him. “Like Kane and Abby.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lincoln looks over to where he’s pointing. The two older people are sitting together on a bench, heads bent together over a set of maps. Lincoln watches as Kane absentmindedly takes Abby’s hand, bringing it to his lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Houmon</em>, I guess.” He isn’t sure if it's official between them, but Trigedasleng doesn’t really have a good word for less. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great, thanks.” Bellamy nods at him in acknowledgement and returns to his conversation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lincoln watches, forehead creased in confusion. <em>Why would an ambassador be asking about</em>— he shrugs internally, going back to his work. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not his problem.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that is how it all starts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>2. Bellamy Blake</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Weeks pass since Clarke left with no word; and, as tensions grow with Azgeda, Bellamy decides it’s time to take matters into his own hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The mission is officially authorized: establishing relationships with local tradespeople is important as winter creeps closer and temperatures start to drop. Arkadia isn’t yet equipped to be fully self-sustaining. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What is <em>not</em> authorized is the datapad Bellamy nicked from Raven’s workstation, loaded with Clarke’s mugshot.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Bellamy shows the picture to the trader, a pretty girl with long brown hair and somewhat severe features. </span> <span class="s1">“Don yu sin em?” He asks, stumbling over the unfamiliar grammar. <em>Have you seen her?</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl’s expression tightens, her shoulders drawing back. “Yu lufa Wanheda au?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Lufa</em> is ‘look for’, but <em>Wanheda</em>— That isn’t a word he recognizes, and he frowns. “Nou Wanheda,” he says, holding up the image again. The girl’s eyes flick back down momentarily before finding his again. “Em laik Clarke kom Skaikru.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The trader’s stance relaxes infinitesimally. Her hand reaches out, cupping under Bellamy’s to pull the screen closer, examining the picture. “Klark. Yu get em?” </span> <span class="s1"> <em>You know her? </em> </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy nods frantically. “Ai laik Bellamy Blake kom Skaikru. Oso don slip daun ogeda.” <em>We came down together.</em> She bites her lip, looking conflicted, and Bellamy fights to find something better to say. Something that will convince her to talk. “Ai laik em houmon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl looks up, eyes wide. “Em houmon?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods again and the trader’s cheeks turn pink for some unknown reason. Her lips pull tight across her face and she pushes his hand back towards his body. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I haven’t seen her,” she says in English. Her tone is flat, almost evasive.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy feels himself become desperate. “Please,” he begs, “We think she might be in danger.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The woman’s eyes grow hard, flinty. “She left you. How do I know you’re not the danger?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s eyebrows pull together in confusion. “I don’t— I let her go, because it was what she wanted, but it’s not safe for Skaikru anymore. The Ice Nation— we’re on the verge of war.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You love her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s head shoots up, startled by the unexpected question. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The trader looks at him like he’s stupid. “Yu houmon,” she says. “You love her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—” he stutters, unsure of how to answer. Clarke is his co-leader, his partner. She’s definitely important to him. Too important, really. Thoughts of Clarke drive him crazy, they have since even before she left. He rucks a hand through his hair, raising his shoulders. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Does Bellamy love her? He thinks about how her hair glinted in the firelight, how her face got soft when she slept, and blushes. That is probably not what the woman is asking anyways. Does he love Clarke as his partner, as his co-leader, as his friend? He does, of course he does. The rest can wait for another day. “Yeah, I love her. We all do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The woman hums, mulling over his answers. Bellamy fidgets nervously, trying not to get angry. Does she know something or not?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve seen her,” she says finally, and Bellamy feels his heart leap. “But you’re not the only one looking. People are calling her Wanheda, Commander of Death. They say she slayed the Mountain, and they want her power for themselves.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns. “So they, what, want to recruit her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The woman shakes her head, her expression serious. “They want to kill her.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>No</em>. Bellamy jerks back, his heart racing. The trader looks at him curiously as he fights to maintain his composure. “But you’ve seen her, right? She’s safe?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her expression softens. “She was a few days ago. She brings her meat here to be smoked, there were a few Azgeda men looking for her but she—” The woman cuts off, blushing again. Bellamy’s forehead creases. “She stayed the night, waited them out. She should be back tonight to pick up the meat, if you want to wait.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods gratefully, feels the air leave him in a whoosh, a feeling of tentative calm replacing the hole that has been gnawing at him for days, weeks even. Since the last time he saw Clarke, outside the gates of Arkadia. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy sits down, and he waits.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>3. Niylah kom Trikru</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl comes in just after dusk, like she always does. Niylah watches from behind the counter as she makes eye contact with the man across room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s on his feet in an instant, mouth open and eyes wide.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Clarke</em>,” he breathes, the name on his tongue like a prayer, like a thanks, like an apology. His eyes drink her in like she is water and he is dying of thirst. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She makes a small noise, dropping the empty bag she uses to carry her meat. Their feet carry them towards each other as if pulled by some outside force.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His hands find her face, cupping it, tilting it this way and that to inspect the cuts and bruises that litter her pale skin. His lips pull together in a tight line, displeased with the damage he finds, but he draws her into his arms, hugging her tightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl—Wanheda— returns the embrace, tucking her face into his shoulder, breathing him in. Their estrangement doesn’t seem to have diminished their devotion to each other, though they don’t kiss. Niylah nonetheless feels like she’s invading a private moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two hold each other for a long moment before pulling back, both their eyes sparkling with unshed tears. The man’s hands stay wrapped tightly around the girl’s forearms, holding her as if he is scared she might disappear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not safe out here anymore,” he says. His eyes beg her to listen, beg her for—something, Niylah isn’t sure. “Will you come home?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her expression tightens. “I—” Wanheda chokes, a tear spilling down. “Bellamy, I can’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can,” he urges. “Please, Clarke. We’re close to war with the Ice Nation, and there’s people hunting <em>you</em>, specifically. They’re calling you—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanheda,” she finishes for him, sparing a glance at Niylah. Niylah looks down, busying herself with tidying the counter. “I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then you know you can’t stay out here alone.” He tilts his head down as she looks up, so their foreheads almost touch. “Please, Clarke, just come home with me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She searches his face, lips trembling, before nodding once. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” he repeats, and releases her. Niylah watches as he watches the girl— Wanheda— <em>Clarke</em>— and wets his lips. One of his hands come up, tugging on a lock of red hair where it fall loose around her shoulders. “This is new,” the man says, his tone light. She makes a face and he lets out a small laugh. “No, no— I like it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, you don’t,” the girl huffs. “It’ll wash out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles fondly. “Whatever you say, Princess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl rolls her eyes and steps back, moving to the counter in front of Niylah. Niylah slides over her meat with a wistful smile. “I guess you won’t be back anytime soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl smiles back and shakes her head. “It’s time for me to go back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She moves to take the meat but Niylah keeps a hand on it, stopping her from picking it up. “Does he treat you well?” Niylah asks, her voice low. “Did you leave because of him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course,” she says, eyebrows furrowed. “And no. If anything, I left in spite of him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Niylah looks over her shoulder at the curly haired man, waiting patiently. His face is the picture of pure adoration. She lifts her hand off the meat, letting the girl take it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am happy to have met you.” Niylah tries out the foreign name on her tongue, “Farewell, Clarke.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke nods. “May we meet again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turns, walking back to the man, Bellamy. He takes her hand, squeezes it, and lets it go; gesturing for her to start towards the door. He follows a step behind, his eyes soft and warm as they watch her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stops at the last minute, turning back towards Niylah. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you,” he says, his tone serious. Niylah nods. He nods back once in acknowledgement and leaves, following Wanheda out into the night. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Niylah sits down as she hears the rumble of some Skaikru machine drifting away into the woods. Her forehead creases, frowning as she puzzles through the interaction she’s just witnessed. </span> <span class="s1">After a while, she sighs, shakes her head, and stands. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The relationship between Wanheda and Bellamy Blake is not one she’ll ever begin to understand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>4. Bellamy Blake</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy and Clarke are sent on a trading mission a month later, to Trishanakru. The ambassador who visited insists on Bellamy, and Clarke insists on joining, feeling cooped up in the walls of Arkadia after her time on her own. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The party that meet them at the gates is immediately more interested in Clarke than they are in Bellamy, and he steps back with a snort, allowing her to do what she does best.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Trained in healing? Would you be willing to consult with our healer? He is very new and would be grateful for your guidance, it would just take a minute.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke looks back at Bellamy as if to ask for permission. He gives her a smile, gesturing at her to go ahead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great!” The envoy claps his hands excitedly. “Pollux can show Bellamy where you’ll be staying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gestures to a young man standing off to the side of the group, who nods in response. Bellamy follows him as they move away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They walk in silence for a while, in step with one another. Bellamy looks over at the man, or boy really. He looks about the same age as the dropship kids, no older than 17. Probably closer to 15, by the look of the gangly limbs he hasn’t quite grown into.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ai laik Bellamy Blake kom Skaikru,” he offers. “Yu laik Pollux?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The kid nods. “Yu get Wanheda?” <em>You know Wanheda?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarke, sha.” <em>Clarke, yes. </em>“Em laik ai houmon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The boy stops still, staring at Bellamy in wonder. “Yu houmon?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy almost laughs at the look on the kid’s face. The Clarke worship is hardly new, but the way the Grounders have made her into basically a god definitely is. “Sha.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pollux swallows hard and blinks. They start to walk again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Em ste bitam pri,” Pollux says shyly. <em>She’s very pretty.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sha,” Bellamy agrees, his throat oddly thick. He thinks about how Clarke’s hair glinted gold in the sun on the ride over, just a little bit of pink lingering at the ends from the dye she'd used to disguise herself. The color matched her lips, just about, Bellamy thinks fondly, and winces. He really needs to stop thinking about the color of Clarke's lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They come to a stop in front of a cabin. Pollux gestures for Bellamy to enter. “Gon yu en yu houmon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mochof,” Bellamy thanks him. The boy nods and scurries away. Bellamy shakes his head and steps through the doorway, pushing back the curtain covering the entrance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The room is medium sized and well-furnished; with a small seating area with cushions, and—<em>oh</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One bed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They must not have expected him to bring a partner. Bellamy looks at it, his heart doing something funny in his chest. He looks over at the seating area, with its small couch, and groans. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Guess he’s sleeping on the couch tonight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They finish late at night. The clan leaders invite them to an elaborate feast, to display their hunting prowess, and thus, their worth as a trading partner, and it drags on. By the time Bellamy and Clarke return to their room, he’s too tired to care, just falling onto the couch. It’s too short, and his legs hang off the side, but it’s horizontal, and at this point that’s good enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke, however, is less convinced, and after an hour of lying quietly in the dark, it becomes clear she’s had enough of his soft grumbles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is stupid,” she says, sitting up in the bed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy looks over at her from his place on the couch. “What is?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke huffs. “This bed is perfectly big enough for both of us, why don’t you just sleep here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy is glad for the cover of dark, as it hides the pink he’s sure is coloring his cheeks. “It’s fine, Clarke.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She scoffs, giving him a doubtful look. “You don’t fit.” He looks at his legs, dangling over the arm of the couch, and looks back to her. She raises an eyebrow. “We’ve slept closer together on the ground before, Bellamy, it’s no big deal.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They have. And frankly his legs are going numb. With a groan he swings them over the side of the couch, sitting up. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke rolls her eyes, lifting up one side of the blankets. Furs, really. They ought to ask for some of these on the next trade deal. “Yes. Come to bed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s cock twitches at her words. <em>An involuntary reaction, </em>he thinks, <em>could've happened with anyone. </em>He wonders when he stopped believing his own bullshit.  “Fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He climbs into bed beside Clarke, as close to the edge as he can manage, his hips tilted away from her. She lets out a satisfied sigh, rolling away from him. “Goodnight, Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bites his lip and closes his eyes. “Goodnight, Princess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>5. Pollux kom Trishanakru</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pollux shifts nervously from side to side, raising his fist tentatively to the door to knock again. It was an honor, he was told, to have been chosen to tend to Wanheda and her partner; but the truth is he’s more than a little frightened of the blonde woman, despite the kindness Bellamy had shown him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When his next knock goes unanswered, he peeks his head in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thought maybe he’d missed them, that they had already gone to breakfast, but no. The small room streams with warm morning light, seeping in through the cracks in the window shades. It illuminates the floating dust in the air, and catches on Wanheda’s hair, which shines bright like gold against the man’s bare chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s… strikingly beautiful, for all her reputation scares him. In sleep, her features soften, and she looks more like a woman than a legend. Like a princess in a storybook, maybe. He guesses that part of why she's so deadly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pollux shift his gaze up, catching the eye of the man, Bellamy, who is awake and watching him curiously. He feels his cheeks redden, embarrassed to have been caught gaping at Wanheda. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gives Bellamy an apologetic shrug, blushing violently. The older man smirks back, amused, and holds a finger to his lips in a gesture to keep quiet, nodding at the sleeping woman on his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pollux opens his mouth to protest, but is unsure what to say. He was told to wake them, but Bellamy is already awake. What more can he do?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The older man observes his distress, giving Pollux an understanding look. <em>Five more minutes, </em>he mouths, and Pollux nods gratefully, quickly retreating from the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Later that day, as he helps his friend Ellodi bring boxes of food into the main kitchens, she asks him, “Yu hit Wanheda op?” <em>Did you meet Wanheda?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pollux thinks of the woman asleep on Bellamy's chest, so different from the stony-eyed leader he'd seen driving a hard bargain with the councilors the day before. He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The look Ellodi gives him is one of wonder, and jealousy, and he can’t help but embellish a little. Puffing up his chest, he launches into a tale of his morning, and how close he’d been to feeling the wrath of the Commander of Death herself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanheda don bilaik hisa, ba ai nou donste firfou.” <em>Wanheda was like a snake, but I wasn’t afraid.</em> Ellodi looks at him with wide eyes, and Pollux bites his lip, feeling a little guilty. He had been in no real danger, and he shouldn’t scare Ellodi like that. “Bellamy nou don teik-em laid-ai op,” he amended with a grin. <em>Bellamy wasn’t going to let her hurt me.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Chuon Bellamy bilaik?” Ellodi asks, her eyebrows furrowing. <em>Who is Bellamy?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pollux gives her a meaningful look. “Wanheda houmon.” Ellodi gapes at him and he nods in confirmation, throwing out a casual shrug; as if this is an everyday occurrence, meeting legends and their families. “Koken, sha?” <em>Crazy, right?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi nods in agreement. “Koken.” <em>Crazy.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>6. Bellamy Blake</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Negotiations with Louwodaklironkru are held a few weeks later on neutral ground, just outside Shallow Valley territory. Kane and Abby begrudgingly send Bellamy and Clarke at the request of the chief, who, like many of the other Grounder leaders, prefers the known leaders of the original 100 to their adult counterparts. They in turn bring some of the more responsible delinquents, who are getting cooped up stuck in the camp. /span&gt; </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The talks go well, with an agreement made before nightfall. They’re brought into Shallow Valley proper to sign the treaty and shake hands with the chief. The Shallow Valley delegation insist on celebrating, bringing out drinks and music and pulling the Skaikru delegation into the mix. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy ends up much drunker than he’d intended, sitting around a fire with a bunch of Grounders whose names he can’t remember.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of them is watching Clarke dance with an intensity that Bellamy does not appreciate. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whuon get Wanheda don ste bitam finas,” the man says, whistling lowly as Clarke grinds against a Grounder girl. <em>Who knew Wanheda was so sexy.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy shoots the lecherous man a glare. “Shof op.” <em>Shut up.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man looks over at Bellamy, surprised. He holds up his hands in surrender. “Moba. Em laik yu niron?” <em>Sorry. Is she your lover?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy shakes his head, his throat going dry. He takes a large gulp of his drink, looking over at Clarke again. She’s smiling, her body moving in time with the beat of the drums. She looks— beautiful, and happy. “Em laik ai houmon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man whistles again, in disbelief this time, his eyebrows shooting up towards his forehead. “Yu’s bozi hef.” <em>You’re a brave man.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sha,” Bellamy agrees over the top of his drink. He glances over at the man and makes eye contact with the chief of Louwodaklironkru, seated beside him. The chief grins at Bellamy, toasting him with his own drink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Em lattau hef,” the chief says, his eyes twinkling. <em>A lucky man.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sha,” Bellamy says. <em>Yes. </em>His eyes find Clarke again, drawn like a moth to a flame. “Em bitam lattau hef.” <em>A very lucky man.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>****</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When it comes time to sleep the two of them are ushered into a single room again; both are too drunk and exhausted to contemplate complaining. He and Clarke fall into bed together without argument, and wake with matching headaches as the sun rises.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They find the others and pack their stuff into the rover in silence, everyone too hungover to attempt a conversation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The chief finds them as they’re about to leave. “A pleasure to have you all join us. We look forward to many happy meetings with Skaikru in the future.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They mumble their agreements. Everyone but Clarke and Bellamy bows in deference and slides into the rover, eager to avoid any extra diplomacy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was an honor to join you, Seya. May we meet again.” Clarke nods and the chief bows, smiling at her. He gestures at a man and a woman behind him, who step forward.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We have gifts!” The man comes first, placing a large ceramic jug at Bellamy’s feet. “For you, some of our berry wine, which you enjoyed last night!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy gives the jug a queasy look but hikes it up, placing it in the back of the rover. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The chief laughs, and gestures the woman forward. “And for Wanheda—” She shakes out a long cloak covered in iridescent feathers and drapes it over Clarke’s shoulders. Clarke looks at it in amazement, fingering one of the black feathers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s beautiful,” she breathes. She looks up at the chief. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles back jovially. “A beautiful cloak for a beautiful woman. It is traditional in our clan, a gift to mark your union.” He steps back, waving at them to go. “Now I’m sure you’re eager to get home and rest. Have a safe trip.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They nod their goodbyes and climb into the rover. Clarke sits in the passenger seat beside Bellamy, cloak tucked over her lap. “What do you think he meant by my union?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy shrugs, throwing the rover into gear. “Probably with the clan, as ambassador for Skaikru.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She strokes her fingers over the delicate garment, exploring the exquisite embroidery that edges the cloth as the rover starts to rumble its way back to Arkadia. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>7. Indra kom Trikru</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Indra watches carefully as the delegation returning from Louwodaklironkru unload the rover. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Abby comes up to join her, standing at her shoulder. </span> <span class="s1">“Have you heard the good news?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Indra’s eyes continue to follow the swish of the long cloak covering the blonde girl’s shoulders for a moment before moving to her mother. “Did Clarke and Bellamy get married?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? No.” Abby frowns, her eyebrows pulling together. “They’ve just secured a trade agreement and an alliance with Shallow Valley.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” Indra looks back at the young woman in her cloak, and the man who comes to sit beside her. She watches as Clarke moves to massage Bellamy’s temples, and Bellamy leans into her touch. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Am I sure they secured an alliance? Yes, my daughter is, in fact, very capable.” </span> <span class="s1">Abby sounds deeply affronted, her tone harsh and caustic. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Indra sees Abby put her hands on her hips in the corner of her eye and </span> <span class="s1">suppresses the deep-seated urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure she is. I meant are you sure they did not marry.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course not,” Abby scoffs. She follows Indra’s gaze to where the two are pressed up against each other, Bellamy's back to Clarke's chest. “Clarke is only eighteen. And they’re not even together.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That is— news to Indra. “The cloak that Clarke is wearing—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Isn’t it beautiful?” Abby interrupts excitedly. “A gift from the chief, in honor of the union of our clans.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The union of <em>clans</em>,” Indra says, her eyebrows raised. “Right.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She watches Clarke rest her hands on Bellamy’s shoulders. One of his hands comes up to meet hers, fingers lacing together. Clarke leans forward, head bowed over him, and the raven feathers of the traditional Louwodaklironkru bridal cape catch the light, shining green and purple in the morning sun.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right,” Indra repeats.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was gonna post this all at once but it's not done and I am champing at the bit so she's getting split into three.</p><p>I know I spoiled the twist ending in the summary but c'mon could you blame me?</p><p>hope we're all doing well. if you can believe it I got promoted despite spending 70% of my workday writing fanfiction so it's a good day.</p><p>would love to see your smiling kudos n comments</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. How It Grew</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“She doesn’t—” Bellamy looks for the words, fidgeting anxiously. Luna watches him with barely concealed amusement. “We’re not like that. We’re not together.”</p><p>“Good,” she says sincerely. “Now next time make it believable, for both your sakes.”</p><p>****</p><p>It gets worse.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>8<em>. Bellamy Blake</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy and Clarke take a short visit to Trishanakru, but after that it’s a long while before they’re allowed out on another trip. Abby and Marcus have grown a little bitter of their prominence in Skaikru politics, and avoid treating with groups who refuse to meet with anyone but Clarke. Unfortunately, this means most diplomacy stutters to a halt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He and Clarke begin sneaking out to hunt, slipping under a section of the fence that Raven secretly cut the power to. Clarke shows him how she learned to hunt on her own, with snares and knives, and Bellamy takes to it easily. The kids who work the meat smoking hut are members of the original 100, and they look the other way when their former leaders drag the fruits of their unsanctioned hunts to be processed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy walks past one time as the guardsman assigned to hunting duty questions one of them about the large dead elk sitting outside, waiting to be cleaned. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, where’d it come from?” The man is practically shouting, and the delinquent shrugs, his expression impassive.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The woods I assume,” the kid says, making eye contact with Bellamy. His lips quirk up as the guardsman explodes, shoulders rolling back to face the anger with glee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy smirks and keeps walking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The air grows colder, and the days grow shorter; fall creeping into winter. Trishanakru sends them a load of unprocessed furs on the next trading day. Bellamy is happy to see Pollux on the wagon, greeting him with a smile and inviting him into the caf for a cup of something warm. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ha yu?” Bellamy asks, slapping the kid fondly on the back. <em>How are you? </em>“Yu don gada in niron kom nau?” <em>You get a girlfriend yet?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The younger boy blushes violently. “Sha,” he says. His eyes fill with a look of awe and wonder that is so deeply familiar to Bellamy it makes him want to laugh, or maybe cry. “Em laik Ellodi en em ste meizen.” <em>Her name is Ellodi and she’s beautiful.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy listens as the teenager waxes poetic over the girl over a cup of coffee. It’s sweet, he thinks, young love. He’s happy for him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They head back to the wagons after a while. Pollux tells him they’ve brought him something special on the orders of the council. “Nou tel op kricken seyas.” <em>Don’t tell the old chiefs.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy laughs at that description of Kane and Abby, promising not to spill. Pollux digs into the front of the wagon, coming up with a large package wrapped in paper and tied with twine. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He presents it proudly to Bellamy, bowing slightly. “Gon Wanheda en yu.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy takes the package, hefting it slightly. It’s heavy but soft, and he figures it must be another fur. “Mochof.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s three furs actually, he discovers later. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy finds Clarke in the medical wing towards the end of her shift. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I steal the princess a little early?” Bellamy asks Nyko, who’s been interning under the watchful eye of Clarke and Jackson. Abby, thankfully, spends most of her time on Chancellor business, leaving the med bay as a safe haven from her hawk eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nyko waves them away, his eyes twinkling knowingly. “She’s all yours.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke slaps his arm away from her shoulders once he’s steered them both into the hall, and Bellamy laughs. She stops, arms crossed, tapping her foot. “What’s all this about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy lifts up the package with a grin. Clarke’s eyes light up. “A present from our friends in Trishanakru.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Furs?” Her voice is eager, and it makes him laugh. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s go see.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stop in his room, because it’s closest. They spend a lot of time in his room, actually, because Clarke still technically shares a suite with her mom, and she does not like to be present when Marcus comes over, for obvious reasons.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke kicks off her shoes and sits on his bed, holding out her hands for the package. He tosses it to her, sitting down beside her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke tears it open, and low and behold, furs. Three to be exact. These ones are processed, unlike the ones on the wagons, ready for use. Two have been sewn into cloaks, one smaller and one larger, for him and Clarke. The smaller one is a deep red-brown and the larger pure black, different from the dirty greys and dull browns he saw piled in the carts. They’ve both got matching beading on the edges, an intricate pattern he’s never seen before, and the seamstress’s son in Bellamy wonders how the clan makes their needles to penetrate the thick hide.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The last is pure white and sewn together in a patchwork, so that both sides are plush and soft. Rabbit fur, he thinks. Clarke shakes it out over her knees, stroking a hand over the thick pile. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a blanket, Bellamy realizes with a flush. For the bed the Grounders always assume they share.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You should take that one.” He waves at it, and Clarke rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be stupid,” she huffs. “It’ll be cold soon. We’ll share it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy swallows hard. Clarke may spend a lot of time in his room, but she’s never slept over. Sharing a bed with her in a Grounder village because that’s what they’d been given was one thing, but sharing his bed, here, at home with her— Bellamy might combust.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh,” he says, his throat dry. “Right, okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first storm of winter strikes without warning. Skaikru isn’t the only one caught unawares; Lincoln meets them at the gate in the midst of a snow squall, a group of dignitaries from various clans at his back. Trikru was having a meeting of their allies, he tells them, and they’d been caught up in the storm as they were leaving. By the time he found them, the visibility was worsening and they were much closer to Arkadia than Tondc. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke and Bellamy help shuffle them into the rover bay, waiting for Kane and Abby to arrive while handing out blankets and warm drinks. He watches as Clarke tends to the injuries of a wild-haired Floukru woman who’d fallen in the storm, and the Delfikru man he’s been helping follows his gaze, his eyebrows shooting up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Daun laik Wanheda?” <em>Is that Wanheda? </em>His voice is somewhat alarmed, and Bellamy bristles. He hates the distrust that the name instills in the Grounders. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Klark, sha,” Bellamy says. “Em laik fisa.” <em>She’s a healer.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man’s eyes flicker back to Bellamy in surprise and he nods. “Meizen,” the ambassador muses. “Yu get em os?” <em>You know her well?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy snorts, thinking of the way Clarke kicked him when he pressed his cold feet against her bare calves in bed earlier that morning. “Sha. Bitam os.” <em>Yes. Very well.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man looks over at Bellamy curiously and his eyes catch on the beading of the Trishanakru cloak. He looks back to Clarke in her matching cloak and sighs, nodding in understanding. “Yu laik em houmon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sha.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ambassador raises his hands, palms facing out in supplication. “Yu’s bozi hef.” <em>You're a brave man.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a huff, Bellamy crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin. His eyes find Clarke once more, like they always do. “So everybody keeps telling me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It turns out Clarke has, as per usual, impressed the woman she was helping. When the storm clears enough for the dignitaries to depart, she finds the two of them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Luna,” Clarke greets, and the woman nods. Clarke gestures at Bellamy, who bows slightly. “This is my partner, Bellamy Blake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luna’s eyes are piercing in a way that unsettles him, like she sees directly into his soul. After a long look, her eyes flick back to Clarke. “I’m afraid I have not been fully honest with you, Clarke. I am not an ambassador.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Oh, that’s okay—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am Seya kom Floukru,” Luna continues, as if Clarke had never spoken. “I would like to invite you visit our clan, once the first thaw comes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It would be an honor,” Clarke says, and Bellamy chuckles internally. Another clan leader in Clarke’s pocket. Won’t Abby just love this?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luna looks at Bellamy again, her gaze appraising. “He will come as well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not a question, and Bellamy would take offense if there was any chance in hell that he’d let Clarke go into some unknown village without him. “I will.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good.” Luna nods shortly. “I will see you both after the first thaw then. Lincoln knows where to find me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turns on her heel and leaves abruptly, the two of them watching her go in slightly shellshocked silence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So she’s weird,” Bellamy says, and Clarke smacks him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” she chides, her eyes following the woman’s wild curls as they move through the Arkadia gates. “I like her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy blows a breath out through his nose. “Of course you do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The winter days are cold but their nights are warm. Clarke spends most nights in his bed, the two of them huddled under the white fur, bodies not quite touching. Bellamy wakes up tangled in her more often than he cares to admit, but always manages to extricate himself before she notices. He doesn’t want to give her any reason to go back to her own bed. He’d have to give her the fur, too, if she went. They both know it was really a gift for her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They continue hunting as long as they can, but are caught by the guard as they are sneaking back in one day, their fur cloaks standing out against the white of the snow. Sinclair overrides Raven’s codes for the fence so their escape route is just as electrified as the rest of it, and that’s the end of that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke gets grouchier as the weeks pass and they remain cooped up within the walls. It hurts Bellamy almost physically to see her so unhappy, and he fights to finds a way out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One morning he shakes her awake just before dawn, chuckling at her sleepy groan. “Get up, princess,” he says, tugging her bodily out of bed. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns his back as she gets dressed, giving her some privacy. Somehow pretty much all of her wardrobe has migrated into his room, but Bellamy steadfastly refuses to acknowledge it. He doesn’t want to spook her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miller is waiting for them in the rover bay, two steaming cups of coffee at his side. Bellamy claps him on the back. “Thanks, man. I owe you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do,” Miller agrees. “Make sure to have it back by dark, or Abby will have my balls.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy nods, shuffling the still practically asleep Clarke into the passenger seat and handing her a cup of coffee. She takes a sip and opens her eyes, looking at him in wonder. “We’re going out?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, princess.” He shuts her door and comes around the other side, climbing into the driver’s seat. He turns the key in the ignition and smiles. “We’re going out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>9<em>. Willa kom Trishanakru</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two of them come through the door around noon.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s odd for two reasons: 1. It’s the middle of winter, and people outside the village rarely venture in while the snows still run. It’s a risk people don’t take, that they might be caught in a storm far away from shelter. Willa knows all the villagers, and these two are certainly strangers. 2. While the cloaks they wear are definitely Trishanakru, the beading pattern suggests power, command. In the manner in which it’s used, at least one of them should be Seya of a village. In other clans, she knows the leaders can be of any age, but in this one the two of them are far too young to be Seya.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She greets them cautiously. “Mounin-hou.” <em>Welcome.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man nods at her respectfully, bowing his head. “Heya,” he says, and she knows immediately now who they are. “Oso gaff flufi drain daun, taim yu kof-on op.” <em>We’d like a warm drink, if you have one.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His accent, the clumsy grammar: they must be Skaikru. And there is only one member of Skaikru who would warrant the Seya beading, or <em>Heda</em> beading, in this case. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Willa’s eyes find the girl, looking innocuous at his side. Her cheeks are pink with the cold, her fingers wrapped around the man's arm, tucked into the crook his elbow. Her face is lit up, grinning wildly as she looks up at the man.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Willa feels her heart soften. “Sha. Hon op kamp-yu raun.” <em>Yes. Find a place to sit.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Skaikru couple settle into a table near the back of the room, by the fireplace. As Willa warms some cider, she watches the man brush snow from the girl’s braid, his gaze adoring. The girl wrinkles her nose, pulling the tie from her hair and shaking it out. The man’s laugh cuts off abruptly as he watches the blonde hair float down around the girl’s shoulders like a blanket of honeyed wheat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Willa ladles the cider into two mugs, bringing it over to the table. The two startle as she places the mugs between them, as if coming out of a trance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The blonde takes the mug, smiling at Willa. “Mochof.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pro,” Willa replies. <em>You’re welcome.</em> Her accent is much better than the man’s. Willa’s eyes linger on the girl’s hands, the skin pink and fingernails nearly purple from the cold, and she worries her lip.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She heads to the back room, digging in her drawers for something. Her son frowns at her. “Chit yu lufa?” <em>What are you looking for?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Willa comes up triumphantly with an old pair of gloves and he grumbles in disinterest, looking back down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she approaches the table again, the two are laughing. The man has one of the girl’s hands between his own, and is rubbing it dramatically to warm the skin. They look up as she nears, and Willa smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gon yu, strikon,” she says, placing the gloves into the girl’s hands. <em>For you, little one.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl looks down and her eyes widen in pleasure. “Oh! Chit gon yu ai kof op?” <em>What can I give you for them?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Willa shakes her head. “Presen. Drein daun seintaim.” <em>A gift. The drinks as well. </em>The girl tries to protest but she waves it away. “Nou, bilaik ai koma badan yu.” <em>No, it’s my honor to serve you.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Understanding dawns in the girl’s eyes and Willa nods. The girl bows her head slightly. “Koma gon ste ain, nomon.” <em>The honor was mine.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Willa smiles, placing a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Mochof.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pro.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She watches the two of them until they leave, their interactions speaking of a deep devotion the likes of which Willa hadn’t seen in a long time. It’s sweet, she thinks, to see such care between the two. She’d think it unlikely, given who the girl is, but it’s obvious the relationship goes both ways. Apparently becoming a legend has in no way tempered the girl’s ability to love.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ilian comes out of the back just as the two leave, waving at Willa as they go. She waves back with the rag in her hand, smiling fondly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whuon gon doson bilaik?” <em>Who were they?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Willa looks over at her son as he collects the empty mugs they’d left. “Wanheda,” she says drily, “En em houmon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, bitam leyos,” Ilian replies. <em>Very funny. </em>She gives him a deadpan look and he freezes, his eyebrows pulling together. “Yu nou kid raun.” <em>You’re not kidding.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nou,” she sniffs, and he swears, his eyes going to the door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Spichen.” <em>Goddamn.</em> He sets the mugs into the wash water and sets something heavy down in front of her on the counter. “Emo set daun dis gon yu.” <em>They left this for you.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a small bone carving in the Trikru style of a blackfish, the symbol of rebirth. It’s intricate, and worth far more than cider or gloves. Willa turns it over delicately in her hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oso Wanheda ouyon klin oda,” Ilian gripes. <em>We owe Wanheda too much.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sha,” Willa agrees, thinking of the husband she’d lost to the Mountain, of the daughter who’d been freed when it had fallen. “Ething.” <em>Everything.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>10<em>. Bellamy Blake</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke’s mood improves markedly after their trip. He’s glad, because he owes Miller about a month’s worth of chores and half his moonshine rations, but it’s worth it to see Clarke smile again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As flu season comes, Abby does some reordering of the med bay schedules, and suddenly Clarke is on the 6 AM shift. It’s brutal, getting up that early in the cold, and Bellamy decides to join her in solidarity, at least for the first week.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He has to haul her bodily out of bed most mornings, her eyes not fully opening until there’s coffee under her nose like smelling salts. By the fifth day she’s almost gotten used to it, and he’s able to prod her onto the roof deck with him to watch the sunrise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Clarke says as the red light breaks over the mountains, her coffee clutched between her gloved hands. “This might be worth it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy watches her face, pink with the cold and bright with awe. “Yeah, it definitely is.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They sneak out once more before the warming starts, Clarke pulling him through the woods until they reach the trading outpost he’d found her in all those months ago. She greets the woman, Niylah, like an old friend, pulling her into a warm hug that only makes him a little bit jealous.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How have you been?” The trader asks, her eyes flickering towards Bellamy. He gets the sense that she doesn’t like him, although he’s not really sure why.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cold,” Clarke says with a laugh. “And bored. Has anyone else been by to kidnap me yet?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy startles slightly. He’d forgotten about that a little, become too lax because of all the meetings with ambassadors and chiefs. He forgot that to many, Wanheda was a power to be taken. He looks nervously at Niylah, waiting for the answer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The brunette smiles, shaking her head. “Not since the snows came. You should be safe until the thaw.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>The thaw.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy wonders what that means, in actuality. He asks Lincoln once they get back, and the man shrugs. “When it thaws,” he says, as if that should be enough explanation. “You'll know it when you see it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He does. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It comes abruptly, with the sound of ice sliding off the roof of the Ark in one big sheet. Bellamy stands back, wondering when exactly the grass had started growing through the snow. Clarke finds him outside, her face filled with excitement. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Luna,” she says, and he remembers. “It’s time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lincoln gives them the instructions, which in Bellamy’s opinion are unnecessarily cryptic, and Kane reluctantly signs off on the use of the rover. Getting to the rig itself is as of yet a mystery, and he jokes about it to Clarke as they sit beside the fire at the water’s edge, throwing pine needles in to change the color.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you think,” he says, elbowing her fondly. “Submarine?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke yawns, her head lolling against his shoulder. She worked a whole shift the night before on Abby’s orders, to make up for her upcoming absence. Bellamy brushes a blonde curl away from her face and she opens her eyes, looking up at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Trained dolphins,” she says matter-of-factly and Bellamy snorts. Clarke wraps her cloak further around her shoulders, shivering. “I should’ve worn the fur instead of the feathers. It’s still cold.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He catches her cold fingers in his own, pulling her closer to his side. “I’ll warm you up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or he would have, if at that moment a bunch of scuba suit wearing strangers hadn’t slid out of the water like sea monsters. The two of them scrabble to their feet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of the figures pulls off its helmet, shaking out a head of wild curls that Bellamy wonders how could have possibly fit under the helmet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luna tosses them each a tiny bottle. He rolls it in his hand, looking doubtfully at the clear liquid within. “Drink,” Luna says, “Or stay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks over at Clarke to find her already throwing back the bottle’s contents. Oh well, then. He uncorks his own and knocks it back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As the drug kicks in and he falls to his knees, he thinks, <em>Oh, maybe not the best idea; </em>but he wakes up in a bed with Clarke on his chest, just like he always does. He can hear the caw of seabirds, and he nudges Clarke awake.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“C’mon,” Bellamy says, urging her awake. “Diplomacy time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>11<em>. Luna kom Floukru</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Skaikru stays on the rig for four days, which is three days longer than Luna expected. It becomes less of a visit than a peace summit, which she probably should’ve planned for based on Wanheda’s reputation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On the last day, Wanheda sets up a makeshift clinic, seeing the children on the rig. She looks over their bumps and bruises, listens to their coughs, gives them shots she claims will stop them from getting sick in the future.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The mothers insist on throwing her a going-away party that night, and Luna allows it, pleased with the treatment of her people by the Skaikru delegates. It is deserved, she decides. The event is hastily put together, a fire built and fish caught, drinks flowing freely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She finds Bellamy Blake on the outskirts of the fire, his eyes locked on the blonde woman sitting at the other edge of the gathering.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your Wanheda is a formidable woman,” Luna says, and it’s not a compliment, just a simple statement of fact. “Never before has Floukru agreed to an alliance outside the bounds of the coalition.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. The children Wanheda treated earlier have lost their fear and shyness and are instead fawning over the woman, competing for her attention. Two older girls weave flowers into her blonde hair, and no less than three of the younger children have clambered into her lap.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luna’s eyes are sharp, watching as Wanheda meets Bellamy Blake’s gaze and smiles, giving him a hopeless shrug. She turns to see his responding grin, and the softness of his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You love her,” Luna says, because it’s true.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy startles, his head whipping back to face her. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You love her,” she repeats, nodding her head towards Clarke. “Wanheda.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—” Bellamy’s eyes flicker back to the blonde woman and his mouth shuts. He visibly swallows, his head bobbing in a slow nod. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good.” Luna spins, gesturing at him to join her. “Follow me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They wind their way together through the rig to the back deck, Bellamy a step behind her. “What is this about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We should talk,” Luna says, coming to a stop against the railing. The back deck is barely lit, and the ocean stretches out black in front of them. She breathes in deeply, enjoying the sting of the salt air in her lungs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“About what?” His voice is suspicious, and Luna suppresses the urge to snort. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was raised with Lexa kom Trikru, you know,” she says, and watches Bellamy stiffen. Interesting, Luna thinks. No love lost between Bellamy Blake and the Commander. “Before she became Heda. Your Clarke reminds me of her, and of myself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His jaw ticks, and he comes to stand beside her, hands closing tightly around the railing. Bellamy looks highly on edge, like a cord tied too tightly, just waiting to snap. She unscrews the lid of her flask and takes a gulp, passing it over to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks,” Bellamy mutters, and she shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She is very strong,” Luna continues, waving a hand. “And that strength invites challenge. It will not be a safe life.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His expression hardens. “I can protect her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She raises one eyebrow, wondering if he is willfully misunderstanding. “I meant for yourself.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy looks up sharply. Luna leans out on the railing, her mind sifting wistfully through old memories. “It’s something they taught us Natblidas, that love is weakness. We all thought it was bullshit as kids, and to a degree it was, but—” Her voice breaks off for a moment. “For Lexa, it was her lover Costia. It was after I left, but everyone knows the story. She was kidnapped by the Azgeda and tortured. When they finally killed her, they sent her head to Lexa as a gift.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy stands stock-still beside her, silent. “You should know, the risk that you are taking. There are people who will seek to use you against her.” Luna sighs, thinking of Derrick and the assassins once sent for him, but also of the counsel he gives, of the comfort he provides. “Her love is not weakness, it is strength. It will keep her balanced, keep her centered. I do not begrudge you your relationship, but— some discretion may be advisable.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t—” he sucks in a sharp breath, his shoulder tense. “You’ve got it backwards.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luna thinks about Clarke’s soft eyes, watching him across the deck. She thinks about the blonde head resting against his shoulders, about the small hand taking his as they watched them on the shore. She thinks of the way Clarke had stepped in front of him when they’d slid from the water, shielding his body with her own. “Do I?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She doesn’t—” Bellamy looks for the words, fidgeting anxiously. Luna watches him with barely concealed amusement. “We’re not like that. We’re not together.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” she says sincerely. “Now next time make it believable, for both your sakes.” He offers her back the flask and she waves it away, moving towards the door. “Bilaik heda niron, bilaik bajon wamplei.” <em>To be a leader’s lover is to marked for death.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ai nou laik em niron,” Bellamy calls after her, the Trig stilted and unnatural on his tongue. <em>I’m not her lover.</em> “Ai laik em houmon!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luna stops, turning back to look at him. She thinks of the matching furs they’d been bundled in at the Skaikru camp, of the feathered cloak Clarke had worn her first day on the rig, of how easily Bellamy had agreed to follow her into the dark corridors, alone; and frowns. “I know, and that’s exactly my point.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She leaves without another word.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>12<em>. Bellamy Blake</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He climbs into bed beside Clarke hours later, hoping he doesn’t stink too strongly of alcohol.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where were you?” Clarke mumbles sleepily, not opening her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Getting drunk in order to avoid my embarrassingly obvious obsession with you </em>is not exactly the cleanest answer, so Bellamy fudges the truth a little. “Talking to Luna.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke stiffens slightly, and he wonders if Luna had spoken to her after him, if his lie is dead in the water along with his dignity. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” she hums, and rolls away from him. Her tone is weird but doesn’t sound angry, and Bellamy relaxes a little, closing his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a while he hears her let out a long sigh, and cracks them back open, rolling towards her. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Clarke asks, her voice quiet. That’s a non-sequitur if Bellamy’s ever heard one. “Luna, I mean,” she adds, as if he needed clarification.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyebrows furrow together. “Yeah, I mean—” Does Clarke have a thing for Luna? She’s pretty, he guesses, but she’s not— his eyes trace the blonde’s features as she lies beside him. Well, she’s just not Clarke. “I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke hums again and goes silent. Bellamy supposes that’s it for the night, settling down against the pillows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Love is weakness</em>, he thinks, and scoffs internally. <em>What a load of horseshit.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His mind dredges up a memory of Clarke, from right after Finn died, when they were deciding how to go about infiltrating Mount Weather. She spent a few hours with Lexa that day, he remembers, and came back with a hard look on her face and a new resolve. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I thought you hated that plan,</em> he said. <em>That I would get myself killed.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looked at him with a blank expression, so similar to the one he’d seen on Lexa that his stomach turned. <em>I was being weak.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His heart leaps, now, at that phrasing. Luna said that the saying was one the Natblidas were taught, one that Lexa would know. Maybe she told it to Clarke, because maybe she’d seen something he hadn’t. Maybe when Clarke said she was being weak, what she meant was that she lov—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe Bellamy is drunk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets out a long huff through his nose, his lips pressing together tightly. Fucking Luna.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They leave the next morning, early. It’s not so cloak-and-dagger this time, no need to keep them in the dark now that Skaikru and Floukru are allies. Luna meets them at the boat to say goodbye, bowing respectfully to Clarke and promising to be in contact soon with the details of the next meeting. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy has trouble making eye contact with her in the cold light of day, and nods stiffly, extending his hand. Luna gives him an amused look, taking the hand and stepping in close, her other hand coming around his back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She kisses his cheek, her lips close to his ear. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Remember what I said. Discretion,” Luna whispers, and steps back. She gives him a meaningful look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy nods in response, and him and Clarke step onto the boat. Luna gives them a single short wave as they pull away before disappearing back into the depths of the rig.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns to find Clarke watching him strangely. “What was that about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy feels the tips of his ears heat and looks away, hoping the cold fog drifting across the water will obscure the blush that he’s sure is painting his face. “Uh, nothing,” he says with a shrug. He winces, looking for something more to say that won’t sound like complete bullshit. “Discretion, she said.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Discretion,” Clarke repeats, her voice flat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I mean—” Bellamy shrugs again. Okay, so that was not the best thing he could have said. “I guess she meant about—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine.” Clarke cuts him off, her voice short. “I can guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And— can she? Bellamy has absolutely no idea what it is she’s guessing, but he thinks (hopes) that it can’t be anywhere near the truth. “Clarke—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t,” she says, her eyes flashing. She looks away, her body tense. “It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s clearly not fine, though. They spend the rest of the boat ride in stony silence, something ugly and heavy settling between them. Bellamy is perplexed, and maybe a little irritated.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tries again as they disembark, helping her off the boat with a hand to steady her. “Clarke, can we—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She drops his hand like she’s been burned as soon as her feet hit solid ground. “Can you just—” she huffs, and stalks away in the woods, pack on her shoulder. “I’m going to go check on the rover.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If she doesn’t want to talk, well—Bellamy isn’t going to make her. Crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest, he turns to face the ocean, determined to let Clarke figure out her own shit this time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This plan lasts about three seconds, until he hears a shriek from the woods behind him that is cut short by the sound of a loud slap, like a hand over a mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So fuck the plan, she needs him. He’s moving before he even realizes it, rushing into the woods towards the source of the commotion. He finds them about twenty yards in front of the rover: a large man in dark furs with one hand over Clarke’s mouth, the other pressing a knife to her throat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let her go,” Bellamy shouts, his gun pointed at the man's head. The grounder looks up with a savage smile and his hair shifts back, revealing the crescent moon branded into his face. Bellamy’s stomach drops, his grip on the gun tightening. <em>Azgeda.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanheda laik ain,” the man says, spitting on the ground. <em>Wanheda is mine. </em>The hand on Clarke’s mouth moves down, wrapping around her waist, and Bellamy feels his blood boil. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nou,” he growls, eyes blazing. <em>No</em>. “Em l’<em>ain</em>.” <em>She’s </em>mine<em>.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy shifts his stance, clicking off the safety. He’s close now, within a few yards. He could shoot the man without hitting Clarke if he has to. “Let. Her. Go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bellamy, don’t,” Clarke warns. His eyes flicker to hers for a second, confused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, Bellamy,” the bounty hunter says mockingly. “<em>Don’t</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a mistake. In the instant it takes to make the comment, the bounty hunter drops his guard just enough for Clarke to grab the wrist of the hand holding the knife and spin, driving her knee into his testicles. The man drops like a stone, and Clarke runs for it, slamming into Bellamy’s outstretched arms.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wraps one arm around her, holding her close to his body. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.” Clarke presses her face to his chest for just a moment, letting out a deep breath. “Thank you for coming.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll always come,” Bellamy promises, the words leaving his mouth without a thought. The bounty hunter lets out a short laugh, and Bellamy’s attention flips right back to the threat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulls Clarke half behind him, keeping the barrel of his gun aimed right at the man on the ground. He’s recovered somewhat, and is sitting on his knees, looking somewhat shamefaced to have been taken down so easily by a girl half his size, Commander of Death or not.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarke, get in the rover and lock the doors,” Bellamy says, not taking his eyes off the bounty hunter. She makes a noise of protest and he winces. “Please, just— there might be more of them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke huffs, but agrees, much to his relief. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy waits until he hears the rover door close and the click of the lock before stepping closer. “Who sent you?” Now that Clarke is safe he’s even angrier, seething. He presses the barrel of the gun to the man’s forehead, but there’s no reaction. No fear. Hands shaking slightly, Bellamy tries again in Trig. “<em>Whuon don sen yu op?</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Azgeda man lifts his chin, his expression placid. “Heda.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy startles. “What?” he asks, eyes widening. “Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Taim Heda gaf Wanheda, taim Wanheda kom Heda.” <em>If the Commander wants Wanheda, then Wanheda belongs to the Commander. </em>The man shrugs, one corner of his lips quirking up. “Fiya jak op yu shainai.” <em>Sorry to steal your prize.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy stiffens, pressing the gun harder against the man’s skin. “Klark nou kom <em>eyon’s</em> shainai.” <em>Clarke is </em>no one’s<em> prize.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bounty hunter’s grin grows wider. “Sha?” <em>Yeah?</em> He raises one eyebrow. “Den chit em bilaik au yu?” <em>Then what is she to you?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s face stains bright red in anger, and he brings the butt of the gun down hard on the man’s temple, knocking him back to the ground. As the man groans, stunned, Bellamy leans over and fists his hand in the man’s shirt, pulling his face up to look him in the eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Em laik ai houmon,” Bellamy spits, and shoves the man back down. He grabs Clarke’s bag from the ground and shoulders it, kicking the bounty hunter on his way for good measure.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As he stalks back to the rover, he hears the man laugh from the ground. “Bos chans!” <em>Good luck!</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke unlocks the doors as he approaches and Bellamy throws himself into the rover with unnecessary force. He dumps their packs into the back, shoving the keys in the ignition.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate that guy,” he says, throwing the rover in gear and reversing quickly. He speeds down the road, shoulders tense with unspent anger.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke makes a noise of agreement. “Who sent him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, his teeth clenching together. “Lexa.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” The shock in Clarke’s voice is obvious. “Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s what I said,” Bellamy grits out. “He was not forthcoming. If the Commander wants you, she gets you, apparently.” Bellamy has so many problems with that statement. He— he really doesn’t like Lexa, and this just confirms that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, she can’t have me,” Clarke says indignantly, and Bellamy feels his heart swell with—something. Satisfaction, maybe. Pride.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Couldn’t be possessiveness. Certainly not.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, also—” Clarke smacks him in the arm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy gives her a wounded look for a half second, rubbing the spot dramatically. “What was that for?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘<em>Em l’ain’</em>?” she quotes, and he winces, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was the first thing that popped into my head!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke crosses her arms and leans back, unimpressed. “‘<em>She’s mine’</em> was the first thing you thought of?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well—” <em>Yes</em>, he wants to say, but that would be saying more than he should. These last few days have been— <em>eye-opening</em>, to say the least. He knows what he wants, which is to say, too much. “I should’ve kicked that guy in the teeth. That’s the first thing I thought of.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great,” Clarke snorts. She pulls her knees up to her chest, leaning towards the door, her head against the window. “Next time, do that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy lets out a fond chuckle. “Will do, princess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>13<em>. Roan kom Azgeda</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Azgeda prince sinks low to his knees as he approaches the throne, bowing his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where is Wanheda?” Lexa kom Trikru demands, and he looks tentatively up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She would not come easily,” Roan says, hoping his expression is appropriately penitent. “I tried, Heda, but—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Try harder,” the Commander hisses, and he bristles at the disrespect. He is a prince, after all, even if he has been reduced to— this. A bounty hunter. “She is one girl, untrained at fighting. How hard could it be to take her in?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Roan feels the phantom burn of the blonde girl’s knee in his crotch and winces. “She may be untrained, but she is not— ineffective.” Lexa stands, pacing towards the window. She looks out over the city, hands clasped behind her back. He approaches her hesitantly, careful not to startle her. “Heda, if I may ask? What do you want her for, if you don’t intend to take her power?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The brunette stiffens, her chin lifting proudly. “Clarke is of more use to me alive than dead. She is a strategic thinker, and a leader of her people. She would make a good ally. And besides, I cannot let a powerful player like her fall into the wrong hands or I’ll have a mutiny to deal with.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He frowns. “Why, then, have you sent me to kidnap her? I could just as easily deliver a message, asking her to come to Polis herself.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—” Lexa begins and— blushes? Curious. “She would not come if I asked,” she finishes quietly. “And the thaw means the hunt for her will resume. It is not safe out there for her alone. Nou gon Wanheda.” <em>Not for Wanheda.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Em nou ste soulou. Wanheda gada in shila.” Roan says gently. <em>She is not alone. Wanheda has a protector. </em>“Em houmon.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa spins to face him, her face uncharacteristically expressive in its surprise. Very interesting, Roan thinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Who</em>?” She asks, switching back to Gonasleng in shock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Roan shrugs. “I do not know his name. A man, dark curly hair, tan skin. He had a gun.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa’s shoulders fall, and she deflates, expression returning to its normal placidity. “Bellamy Blake,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “He is just Clarke’s shadow.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, Heda.” Roan tilts his head deferentially, as is appropriate, and he keeps his thoughts on just what Bellamy Blake is to Wanheda to himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seems like the Commander would rather not know, anyways.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bellamy Blake @ literally anyone who will listen: "That's my WIFE!!!!!!"</p><p>Anyways I love you all hope everyones having a good time. It's so weird that they didn't make a seventh season of the 100, don't you think?</p><p>talk to me please, give me your comments and kudos</p><p>(also poll: should there be sex in the last part be honest folks. it would be like sweet romance sex, not uh all the other smut I write)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. How It Ended</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Clarke rises from her knees, meeting the other woman’s gaze. “Commander.”</p><p>Lexa frowns slightly at the cool greeting. “I trust you and your husband have found your accommodations to be acceptable?”</p><p>“My—” Clarke startles, her intentionally placid demeanor breaking with confusion. “What?”</p><p>***<br/>a slow and steady fall comes to a jarring stop</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello guess what the sex won so if you don't want to read that or if you are (and I know this is some of you) a M*NOR, please skip from:<br/>"After that it’s an easy decision to sneak back to their room" to<br/>"He flops back onto the mattress"</p><p>I'll see you on the other side.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>14<em>. Bellamy Blake</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Spring comes in starts and jolts after the first thaw, and with it comes requests to treat with their allied clans, and those who they have not yet met. With Clarke out of commission for diplomacy missions for the foreseeable future, a lot of those meetings have to happen on Skaikru soil.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s immensely frustrating to Bellamy, watching the meetings take place. Kane and Abby allow Clarke’s presence as an inconvenient necessity in order to gain the respect of the Seya or Ambassador, but any time she tries to contribute, they shut her down like she’s a child.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s disrespectful, and Bellamy hates it. He and Clarke have logged more hours of Grounder interaction than any of the council members, probably more of diplomatic interaction as well. The only experience the council has is with inter-Ark politics, and from Bellamy’s memories of the stark inequality and the unrest that plagued the less fortunate stations, they couldn’t have been particularly good at that either.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kane is better but Abby and the others— they simply don’t respect Grounder culture, the traditions and intricacies of the way their politics and societies work.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a particularly disastrous meeting with the second of the Podakru chief, Bellamy and Clarke end up having to chase down the disgruntled delegation, stopping them breathless at the gates.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second, a teenage girl perhaps a year or two younger than Clarke, holds up a hand to the rest of her party to allow them through.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke steps forward, bowing respectfully, one hand to her chest. “Fiya, Seya seken, hashtag chit don gou daun deyon.” <em>I am sorry for what happened today.</em> She raises her head, looking the girl clear in the eyes. “Hofli oso na strik op gintieknes nodataim, taim tautnes les spik op.” <em>Hopefully we can resume negotiations another time, when tensions are less high.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me, Wanheda, does your council even speak my language?” The girl swings her gaze over to Bellamy, her tone accusing. “What about you, gona? Yu mema sleng-de in?” <em>You know the language?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tilts his head down in deference. “Sha, en ai sis, seintaim. Kane chich op bida, en Lincoln kom Triku tich op odon kom Skaikru. Nyko kom Triku don tich op won oso fisa, seintaim.” <em>Yes, and my sister does too. Kane can speak some, and Lincoln of Triku is teaching others. Nyko of Triku has taught one of our doctors, as well.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And Abby Griffin, mother of Wanheda? Is she not one of your healers as well? If you expect to treat our people, you must understand what they are saying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke steps forward again. “She does not, but she spends most of her time as Chancellor these days. Jackson and I have treated many Grounders, of many clans. Our promises are not empty.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl looks back with stony eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. She raises an eyebrow. “Still, how can I negotiate with people who will not even speak to me? I am Seya seken kom Podakru, and yet they look to my bodyguards for answers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am sorry for that, Seya seken. It is hard for them to understand that a person so young could be a leader.” Bellamy bites his cheek at that, knowing Clarke was speaking about more than just this last meeting. He knows that this girl, at least, had noticed the way the council had shut their greatest diplomatic asset out of the conversation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl sighs, her shoulders lowering. “We had hoped to treat with you, Wanheda, as the other clans have.” She eyes the feathered cloak flipped back over Clarke’s shoulders. “We have our traditions as well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can,” Clarke promises. Bellamy shoots her a warning look, but she pushes ahead. “For now I am bound by the Commander’s bounty, but as soon as it is lifted, Bellamy and I will visit and we can make our agreements then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl’s eyebrows furrow, her forehead creasing. “I was unaware Heda had put a bounty on you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s odd, Bellamy thinks. The point of a bounty is to entice many to aid in the same task. It doesn’t work as well if nobody knows about it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shrugs, her expression tight. “A misunderstanding. It will be resolved soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Very well.” The Podakru girl nods. “We accept your offer. We will not raise arms against Skaikru, nor aid Azgeda.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She bows, and Clarke bows back. “Thank you. May we meet again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy stands anxiously at Clarke’s shoulder as they watch the party depart. Once the gates finally close behind them, Clarke lets out a long breath and turns, making to trudge back up to the council room and deliver the news. Bellamy follows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well that could’ve gone better,” she muses as they walk in step with each other. Bellamy looks at the line of her tense shoulders. With a sigh he reaches a hand out, gently pulling her to a stop. Clarke looks up at him in confusion. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her expression softens, just a little. Her hand finds the one on her arm, her warm palm coming up to cover his fingers. “I’m fine. Let’s just go tell the council the plan and then we can go get a drink.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laces her fingers through his, sliding their joined hands away from her arm. Turning, she attempts to tug him along with her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy stands firm. “Clarke,” he says gently. “We don’t know when the bounty will be lifted, if ever. We don’t know if we’ll be able to keep your promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her lips tighten. “We will. Kane is going to Polis next week. It was a mistake, and Lexa will see that. Now come on.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets her pull him away this time, following gamely as she leads them back to the Ark, but Bellamy knows better than to believe her nonchalant attitude.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bounty is still a significant sore spot for Clarke. Bellamy knows Lexa’s initial betrayal hurt Clarke more than he fully understands, and this bounty he imagines is just further insult to the injury. Clarke’s reputation as Wanheda had come only because Lexa had abandoned their pact.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stands silently in the back as Clarke tells the council the agreement she made with the Podakru ambassador. They accept it begrudgingly, not that it would change anything if they didn't. He knows Clarke would go no matter what they decided.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy sticks around after the end of the meeting, telling Clarke to go on ahead. The council chambers slowly empty, and eventually it’s just him and Kane and Abby, as he’d intended it to be.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He crosses his arms over his chest, expression hard. “We need to talk.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kane gives him a surprised look, leaning up against the conference table. “What’s wrong, Cadet Blake?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He appreciates the formal address. He’s not here to play the adopted son, he’s here to present his grievances as a citizen of Arkadia.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We need to increase the scope of our Trig classes. The Grounders don’t respect us, because we don’t respect them. We need to show them that that’s changing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Abby frowns, tossing her hair back. “They speak English as well, why should we worry about that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy shakes his head, thinking of Pollux, or the Trishanakru woman who gave Clarke her gloves. “Not all of them. And those who do know English  as Gonasleng, as the warrior’s language. It doesn’t exactly engender trust.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I agree,” Kane says, placing a gentle hand on Abby’s forearm. She looks back at him, surprised. “I’ll talk to Lincoln about bringing in more teachers, formalizing the program.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” Bellamy says. “Start with the guards, and anyone else who goes out foraging or hunting. Every trading party needs at least one Trig speaker as well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Abby sniffs, raising her chin. “We will discuss it with the council. Is that all, Mr. Blake?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her voice is dismissive, and he bristles. “No, actually. You need to start listening to Clarke, start respecting her role here. She’s the only reason we have allies right now, and you treat her like a child.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Abby visibly stiffens. Kane’s hand on her arm becomes less of a gentle caress, and more of a warning. “I agree we could be more open to her suggestions. It's something we will work on,” Kane says soothingly, his tone diplomatic.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Abby, on the other hand, glares at him. “You forget, Mr. Blake, that Clarke is, in fact, a child. <em>My</em> child. I don’t care what name the Grounders give her, she's still just a girl.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy looks back resolutely, refusing to cede an inch. “A girl I owe my life to. And many of the others here as well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A teenager,” Abby spits, “Younger than you. While I respect my daughter’s many abilities and her skill in negotiation, it is not right for her to be so involved when the situation is so volatile. Not at her age.” With that, she storms out of the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kane looks at Bellamy apologetically. “She worries a lot about Clarke,” he pleads. “You understand that, don’t you, Bellamy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy does, of course he does, but that’s not it. “It’s not about putting Clarke in danger, it’s about respecting her. From the day we stepped foot on the ground, Clarke has been leading us, whether the two of you like it or not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know, and I’ll work on it with her,” Kane says, his voice gentle. “It’s just hard for Abby. She wants to keep Clarke safe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy hums noncommittally, letting Kane past him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He still hasn’t forgotten the way Abby sent her own daughter to the ground as an experimental test subject. He probably never will.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Soon it’s their turn to visit Trishanakru. Bellamy agrees to take Raven, against his own better judgement.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven tries to protest, but Clarke is insistent that Bellamy doesn’t go alone just because she can’t leave Arkadia without getting stalked by bounty hunters. Bellamy tries to protest as well, but it’s a well known fact that he has trouble saying no to Clarke, and this time is no different.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please,” Clarke pleads, in bed with him one morning. The nights are still cold enough for the fur to be useful, and Bellamy dreads the day when they’re not. “She can be me for the week, it will be fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In his opinion, no one could ever be Clarke for any period of time, no matter how brief, but he keeps that to himself. “She doesn’t even speak Trig.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She doesn’t have to.” He rolls his eyes, turning to face her, and sucks in a sharp breath. She’s nearly nose to nose with him, her blue eyes bright and clear. “C’mon Bellamy, you need a partner.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He has one, he wants to say, but he knows that’s a losing argument. He feels her breath warm on his cheek and closes his eyes. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tugs his hair and he opens his eyes again, lips quirking up. She gives him a soft smile. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy huffs and rolls over onto his back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her close. And that’s not what they do, not how they sleep: with gratuitous space between their bodies all night long, at least to Clarke’s knowledge. He stiffens slightly as he realizes what he’s done; but Clarke doesn’t seem to notice anything awry, instead nestling happily against his warm body. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy relaxes, letting his palm splay heavy on the curve of her hip. “You’re welcome. Now shut up and let me sleep. We’ve still got an hour before breakfast.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like you’re really going to fall back asleep,” she mumbles against his shirt, eyes closed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiles fondly at the top of her head and lets his head drop back onto the pillow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No, Bellamy thinks, feeling the weight of her head against her chest. He definitely isn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He and Raven leave on a Tuesday, just the two of them, the rover full of medicine and goods to be traded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke’s in Bellamy’s bed when he leaves, and she says goodbye sleepily, her eyes barely open as she wraps her arms around his neck. She’s out again before he closes the door.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ground is wet with the melted snow, and mud coats the rover as they drive down to the village. There’s much less fanfare on their arrival than Bellamy’s grown accustomed to, their greeting party just a single man who gives Raven a leering look that makes Bellamy place himself bodily between them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wonders where Pollux has gotten off too. He likes that kid a lot better than this creepy bastard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fair warning,” Bellamy says to Raven, hiking his bag back up onto his shoulder as they enter the main lodge. They follow the man through the building. “We’ll have to share a room. Everyone always just gives us one for some reason.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Probably because they’ve met you and Clarke,” Raven mutters under her breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shrugs nonchalantly. “Whatever. You better not snore.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man stops, gesturing to a door on his left. “Bagedda gon plan.” <em>Bedroom for the woman.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mochof,” Bellamy says, moving to follow Raven into the room. The man stops him with a hand on his chest, looking at Bellamy with amused eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nou gon yu.” <em>Not for you. </em>He jerks his thumb towards a door across the hall. “Daun gon Wanheda houmon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy frowns. “Yu get klin?” <em>Are you sure?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man rolls his eyes and nods, starting to walk away. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy watches him walk down the hall, eyebrows pinched together, and shrugs. He’s heard Raven snores, anyways.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After the meetings, Raven and Bellamy eat dinner in the main hall with the rest of the clan, no feast for them this time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Guess they knew Clarke wasn’t coming,” Raven snorts, and Bellamy elbows her in the side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A pretty young girl Bellamy remembers from his last visit serves them in the dining room. “Ai ste shanen yu komba raun nodotaim.” <em>I’m glad you came back again. </em>She looks Raven over, smiling gently. “Chuon yu lukot?” <em>Who’s your friend?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy smiles back, accepting the mug of tea she offers him. “Disa Raven Reyes kom Skaikru.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Monin-hou, Raven kom Skaikru.” The girl bows slightly. Raven nods her head back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is she saying?” she whispers into Bellamy’s ear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s welcoming you,” he whispers back. “Say <em>Mochof</em>. It means ‘thank you’ in Trig.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven turns back to the girl, who is watching them with strangely hard eyes. “Mochof.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl ignores her, zeroing in on Bellamy. “Weron yu houmon?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her voice is oddly accusing and he frowns. “Clarke?” The girl nods and he shrugs. “Em hosen.” <em>She’s busy, </em>Bellamy says<em>.</em> He doesn’t want to go into the details of the bounty Lexa has placed on her, not eager to spread the news to more Grounders if he can help it<em>. “</em>Raven na bilaik em dis deyof.”<em> Raven will take her place this week. </em>He puts his arm around Raven’s shoulders for good measure, grinning at the Grounder girl. “Em bilaik ain moun houmon.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The effect is not quite what he wanted. She leans back, her nose wrinkled in distaste, expression pinched. Her hand comes up like lightning, slapping Bellamy full across the face. He clutches his cheek as the petite girl spits at his feet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Branwoda!” She gives him one last glare and turns, marching away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven stifles a chuckle as Bellamy watches the girl leave, his mouth gaping in astonishment. “What was that about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy rubs his cheek, his eyebrows pulling together. “I have no idea.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>15. Ellodi kom Trishanakru</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ai nou get hakom yu hod-du in,” she scoffs as she scrubs the dishes, Pollux leaning against the counter at her side. <em>I don’t know why you like him so much. </em>“Yu lukot Bellamy kom Skaikru bilaik natrona.” <em>Your</em> <em>friend</em> <em>Bellamy is a cheater.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pollux lets out a sharp laugh. “Nowe. Em hod Wanheda in moubeda kom eyon. Yu nou gon ai emo op ogeda, em don gada skaifaya in em blinkas en ething.” <em>No way. He loves Wanheda more than anyone. You didn’t see them together, he had stars in his eyes and everything.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi’s hand stops and she looks over, glaring at her boyfriend. “Ai sou ste hai. Em lid in em niron, Raven, dis taim.” <em>I’m not stupid. He brought his lover, Raven, this time.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pollux swallows, chastened. “Ai nou fig-yu ste hai,” he says gently, putting his hands on her elbows. <em>I don’t think you’re stupid. </em>Ellodi keeps her eyes on the ground, still annoyed. “Ai jos fig-yu nou don sen klin.” <em>I just think you misunderstood.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of his hands tilts her chin up, and she meets his eyes. “Mebi.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both startle as a knock comes at the doorway, stepping away from each other. The girl from Skaikru looks in sheepishly, glancing around the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” she says, looking at Ellodi. “I was hoping I could talk to you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi’s expressions hardens, her lips thinning. She turns back to the dishes and starts scrubbing again viciously. Pollux senses the tension, his body tense and uncomfortable. He gives Ellodi a kiss on the cheek and slips out behind the Skaikru girl, leaving them alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” Raven says. She leans up against the counter, taking Pollux’s former spot. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi scrubs harder. “Mebi yu beda don fig raun hasta chit yu dula op fou yu don dula-en, rud gada.” <em>Maybe you should’ve thought about what you were doing before you did it, rude girl.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fiya.” <em>Sorry. </em>The girl shrugs. “And that’s all the Trig I know, so if we could do this in English…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi stops, turning around to look at her. Her eyebrows pull together. “If you don’t speak Trig, then why did you apologize?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven laughs. “You seemed pissed, I just assumed it was an accusation of some kind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She—does not understand this girl at all. She’s so bold, in everything she’s doing. It seems wrong. “What do you want?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Raven drawls, tapping her fingers against the counter. “I was just wondering what your beef is with Bellamy. I mean, not that it wasn’t funny, but he’s having enough trouble as it is without Clarke here, and now he thinks your clan hates him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Not all of us</em>,” Ellodi huffs, thinking of Pollux’s passionate defense. “It’s not right for him to have brought you here. Our chief gave Bellamy and Wanheda union gifts. Maybe that means nothing to you <em>Skaikru</em> people, but to us, it is important.” She crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her chin, daring the other woman to contradict her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven, however, just looks confused. “But Clarke can’t come because of the bounty. Is Bellamy really not allowed to bring anyone else just because of these— what? Unity presents?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Union,” Ellodi corrects sharply, “And no. He just shouldn’t spit upon those gifts by bringing <em>his</em> <em>mistress</em> with him on a trading trip.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven reels back, her eyes wide, as if she’s been slapped the way her lover was before. She looks at Ellodi’s face for a long moment, as if measuring how serious the accusation was.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi raises one eyebrow primly. “Well?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Skaikru woman bursts into laughter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god,” Raven cries, through raucous guffaws. She leans her weight onto her knees, throwing her head back in mirth. “This is too good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi is taken aback by the reaction. “What is so funny?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The dark haired woman laughs even harder. “You— me— and Bellamy, because Clarke— <em>Union—” </em>She waves her hands in surrender, her words broken up by her own sniggers<em>.</em> “No, I can’t, it’s too much.” Ellodi frowns, waiting as the girl’s laughs slowly subside and she stands, wiping tears from her eyes. “Sorry just— what exactly did Bellamy say to you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He said Clarke was busy, so you’d do her duties this week. That you’d be his substitute wife.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“His substitute wife!” Raven squeals, descending into another round of laughter. Ellodi gives her an impatient glare and she holds up a hand in apology. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just— he’s so dumb.’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So it’s not true.” Ellodi narrows her eyes, looking doubtfully at the Skaikru woman. “You’ve never slept with him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven winces. “Well, not <em>never</em>.” She backtracks quickly as Ellodi’s expression hardens. “But—! But that was a <em>long</em> time ago. He’d never—now.” Ellodi gives her a long look, assessing her sincerity. “Seriously.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine.” Ellodi shakes her head, turning back to the dishes. The water’s gone cold, and she sighs, dreading the trip over to the fire where Pollux will inevitably be waiting to say <em>I told you so</em>. “I believe you. I will explain to him my mistake.” Raven stiffens slightly, and Ellodi looks over, raising one eyebrow. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Skaikru woman hums speculatively. “Maybe— don’t do that.” Raven chews on her lip, smirking slightly. “Bellamy is just— he’s sort of sensitive about the Clarke stuff, because he’s worried about her. So it’s probably best if you don’t bring her up again. He be really upset if he knew—what you’d thought.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks distinctly pleased with something and Ellodi narrows her eyes in suspicion. “Fine,” she grits. “But I publicly attacked his character. I will have to apologize.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven frowns. “That’s fine, I guess, just, uh—” Her eyes brighten and she looks up. “Just do it in Trig.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi looks at her like she’s stupid. “Of course. I’m only using Gonasleng now because you can’t be bothered to learn my language.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The insult apparently doesn’t hit because the Skaikru woman just smiles. She slaps Ellodi on the shoulder, heading for the door. “Great,” she calls over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi snorts, watching her go. <em>What an odd woman</em>, she thinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She seeks Bellamy out the next day in the dining hall, snatching his cup off the table and refilling it before he can protest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks up, his eyes widening in surprise as he recognizes her. “Oh, heya. Ai nou don dig au yu tagon yeson.” <em>Oh, hi. I didn’t catch your name yesterday.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ai laik Ellodi.” She sets the cup down with a thump, looking him straight in the eyes. “Ai biyo moba gon ai gougou las nat. Ai don ste fokfou.” <em>I apologize for my behavior last night. I was mistaken.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy seems to recognize the name, ignoring her apology<em>. </em>“Yu niron kom Pollux?” <em>You’re Pollux’s girlfriend?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi nods stiffly. “Sha. Yu teik in ai moba?” <em>Yes. Do you accept my apology?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sha, soukei.” <em>Yes, it’s okay. </em>He looks at her with kind eyes, taking a sip of the drink she poured him. “Ai get klin. Ai gaf Clarke don na kom op hir seintaim.” <em>I understand. I wish Clarke could’ve come here, too.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hovers over him uncertainly, pitcher clutched in one hand. “Yu mema we em?” <em>You miss her?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The smile he gives her is sad, wistful even. “Sha, ogetaim.” <em>Yes, all the time.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ellodi feels her heart soften. Okay, so perhaps Pollux was not so wrong about Bellamy after all. Setting the pitcher down on the table, she slides into the empty seat across from him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yu na tel ai op hashta em?” <em>Will you tell me about her?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins. “Chit yu gaf get in?” <em>What do you want to know?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>16. Bellamy Blake</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The rest of the trip passes without theatrics. He spends some time with the chief, shadowing their spring planting, and some time with Pollux. Pollux very begrudgingly introduces Bellamy to his mom, who immediately pinches his cheek.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yu laik Wanheda houmon?” She asks excitedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy gives her a weak smile, wincing at her tight grip on his skin. “Sha.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The woman exclaims, bustling into the cabin and gathering things together into a large sack. Bellamy gives Pollux a sideways look, raising his eyebrows. Pollux shrugs in response.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s sent home with the sack and a wet kiss on the cheek. “Gon yu en Wanheda,” Pollux’s mother explains, pressing the bag into his hands. Bellamy tries to protest but she insists. “En bilaik presen. Yu nou na bali ai kom strip en au, sha?” <em>It’s a gift. You wouldn’t shame me by rejecting it, right?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Bellamy takes it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven laughs at the expression on his face when he climbs into the rover. “What is the bag?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shrugs, wiping the spit off his face with a wince. “No idea. It’s for Clarke.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven snickers. “For Clarke, or for you-and-Clarke?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is that even supposed to mean?” Bellamy says stiffly, his cheeks flaring red. He sticks the key in the ignition and turns it, the engine roaring to life. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gives him a loaded look, waggling her eyebrows. “I think you know exactly what it means.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy groans, putting his hand on the back of Raven’s seat, turning to look out the back windshield as he reverses.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” he grumbles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raven laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kane is already in the rover bay as they pull in, unloading his things from his trip to Polis. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy swings eagerly out of the rover, hopping to the ground. “How’d it go?” he calls, and Kane looks up. Bellamy’s eyebrows draw together as he takes in Kane’s expression. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing it’s—” Kane tries for a smile but it comes out a grimace. He lays a heavy hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. “We have some things to discuss.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s eyes search the older man’s face, panic starting to rise up in his belly. “What happened?” His gaze flicks to the door of the bay, waiting for a blonde head to appear. “Did something— is Clarke—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, <em>no</em>.” Kane shakes his head, his voice reassuring. “She’s here, she’s safe. It’s just—” He breaks off, wincing. “The meeting with the Commander did not go as hoped.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy narrows his eyes. “How so?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kane looks away. “Well for starters, Lexa insisted there was no bounty on Clarke.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s—” Bellamy blinks, and frowns. “But that’s bullshit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, well—” Kane purses his lips, shrugging. “Unfortunately, she liked the idea once she heard it, so it’s a moot point anyways. There is definitely a bounty on Clarke now, and all of the clans will know soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But—why?” Bellamy can feel his own frustration start to boil over, and he clenches his fist reflexively. He lets out a breath through his teeth, the air hissing as it leaves his mouth. Kane gives him a sympathetic look. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarke is a loose end, for Lexa. A threat to her reign in multiple ways. Her diplomatic successes make her a concern as she shifts support from the Coalition, and her status as Wanheda makes her life a prize to any hoping to usurp Lexa’s rule.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy thinks of Clarke’s unhappiness over the winter, stuck in the camp, and of her surety as she made her promise to the Podakru second. He thinks about the way her face lights up when she interacts with new Grounder children, and the way her chin lifts as she prepares to drive a hard bargain with another chief. He can’t let that be over for her, he <em>won’t</em>. Clarke is so good at what she does, it’s not fair for her to live a life trapped within the Arkadia walls, like an animal in a cage. Bellamy won’t allow it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What can I do?” He chokes out, his voice catching in his throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kane’s hand on his shoulder tightens, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Nothing, for now. But I’m working on it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two men share a meaningful look, both of their faces reflecting the same resolve. Their heads turn as the door to the bay swings open.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want to tell her, or should I?” Kane asks, her voice low.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy shakes his head, his eyes burning. Clarke’s face brightens as she finds him over Raven’s shoulder. He smiles weakly in return. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy swallows, his throat thick. “I’ll do it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kane gives him a nod and a pat on the back. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Bellamy says, watching Clarke’s cheerful expression as she makes her way over to him. “Me too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes it as well as she can.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Clarke, so she tries to hide how upset she is, but Bellamy can tell. He pulls her into his arms, safe behind the closed door of his room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hugs him back, face tilted into his chest. She sniffles once, holding back angry tears, and that’s enough for him. Bellamy strokes a hand over her head, whispering reassurances into her hair. “I’m sorry,” he says. “We’ll fix this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate this,” Clarke mumbles into his shirt. “I just want to leave.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He draws back, fingering a blonde lock of hair where it falls in front of her face. “Got any more of that red hair dye? We could sneak out, just the two of us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That earns him a laugh. Clarke straightens up, wiping a tear from her cheek, and shakes her head. “They’d know it was me in a second anyways. Everyone knows you go where I go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And—oh, he <em>likes</em> that. Something deep inside him curls up, warm and satisfied. Bellamy smiles, fingers sliding over to cup the edge of her chin. Clarke leans into the touch, closing her eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I could cut my hair or something,” he offers. “Wear a hood, grow a beard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks up at him, her eyes soft. One of her hands comes up to tug playfully at a dark curl. “No, I like your hair too much,” she says. Bellamy grins in response. “And besides, I want us to fight this as us, not somebody else. I want it to be Clarke and Bellamy who beat this, Clarke and Bellamy who get to be happy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t help the pride that roars hot through his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want that too,” Bellamy croaks, feeling her body soft and warm in his arms. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” Clarke says, and smiles. “Then let’s get to work.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their breakthrough comes a month later, from Luna of all people. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She summons Bellamy to the rock circle by the sea. He goes alone, as he has to. Lincoln and Octavia offer to come along, but he doesn’t want them to be there if the news is bad. He’ll probably punch a tree or something, and Octavia would never let him live that down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s waiting for him when he arrives, alone at the water’s edge. He parks the rover and climbs out, moving to join her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She will hear you out,” Luna says without preamble, and Bellamy jolts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? Lexa?” She nods. He feels something in his stomach fall away, like a heavy weight sliding off him. “God that’s— I have to tell Clarke. We’ll have to—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Luna says, and he stops. “Clarke cannot enter Polis limits. It will have to be you, and you alone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But—” Bellamy frowns, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Floukru Seya shrugs, her expression as impassive as always. Bellamy wonders if that’s another natblida thing. It’s eerily reminiscent of his memories of the Commander.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lexa has her pride,” Luna explains. “She cannot allow Wanheda to plead for her own bounty to be lifted in front of the Coalition. It would make her look weak, to allow Clarke to leave her custody once she’s entered it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But then—” Bellamy shifts uneasily, looking out at the roiling ocean. “Why would Lexa let me plead her case for her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luna turns to look at him. “Because I asked her to. It was the first time I’d seen her since I fled the conclave. Perhaps she was feeling nostalgic.” She raises one eyebrow. “You’re welcome, by the way.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, really I—” Bellamy swallows, his mind racing. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luna shrugs again. “Against my better judgement I have grown fond of you and your Wanheda.” She fixes Bellamy with a piercing gaze, her tone low and serious. “Do not waste this opportunity, Bellamy Blake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head frantically. “I won’t, I—” His hands fidget, eyes flicking towards the rover. All he can think about is getting home, telling Clarke the news. He has a speech to write, and a strategy to plan. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luna gives him a knowing look, waving at the rover. “Go. She’ll be waiting for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy nods hard, already moving. “Yes, thank you.” He starts to leave and hesitates, looking back once more. “Really, thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luna nods. “Go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke is pacing in the rover bay when he gets back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stops as soon as she see him, hurrying to meet him. She reaches the door of the rover before he even has a chance to climb out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well?” She asks nervously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A broad smile breaks across his face. “We’ve got our chance. Lexa will let me try and convince her to lift the bounty.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, thank god,” she breathes, wrapping her arms around his middle. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy snorts, stroking a hand over her hair. “Getting a little stir-crazy, princess?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smacks him and draws back. “No— Well, yes, but I just— thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. Bellamy swallows hard, his heart racing at the unbridled joy in her eyes. “Why are you thanking me? Luna did the heavy lifting.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah but—” she looks up at him, her blue flicking between his. The smile on her face melts into something else, something he can’t quite recognize.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Bellamy asks softly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head. “Nothing, I’m just— even though this whole thing is a disaster, I’m just really happy I came home with you, back then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets out a deep breath, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “Yeah,” Bellamy agrees, his voice tight in his throat. He watches Clarke’s eyelashes flutter as his thumb brushes against her jaw. “I’m happy too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>17. Octavia Blake</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Okay, so Octavia is very much not paying attention.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy is sitting next to her, rattling off his speech to the Commander and the Twelve Clans for her, asking for the bounty on Clarke to be lifted. And, yes, she said she’d listen, but, frankly? Who even cares about politics?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s boring, and she can see Lincoln across the camp chopping wood shirtless. It’s warm, and his brown skin is shiny in the sun, drawing her eyes to the hard lines and planes of his abs. Who could blame her?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Probably her brother, of course, as he usually does. I mean, she <em>did</em> promise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can you just tell me if it sounds alright?” Bellamy begged, and she’d agreed. The whole speech is in Trig, though, and Octavia is at least 50% certain that what he really wants is to make sure his translation is right. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oso op, Klark nou jos laik Wanheda,” he says. <em>To us, Clarke is not just Wanheda.</em> Octavia nods along gamely, her eyes intent on her boyfriend's sweaty chest. “Em laik ai houmon. Em—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>She’s my— </em>Octavia jolts out of her daydreaming as the words register. “Your <em>what</em>?!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy gives his sister an unamused look. “Houmon. What else would I call her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—” Octavia is speechless, her eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d say co-leader but we’re technically not in charge anymore; and also I don’t know the Trig for that.” Bellamy throws up his hands in exasperation. “Were you even listening?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Octavia stares at him, understanding slowly starting to hit. “Your partner?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, O, my <em>houmon</em>, my partner. Whatever,” Bellamy huffs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And—<em>oh my god</em>. He doesn’t even <em>know</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh, this is even better than Octavia thought. She wonders who taught him that. If it was Lincoln, she owes him something just for the drama he’s unknowingly set in motion. It’s wonderful, <em>stupendous</em>. Everything she ever could’ve asked for and more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She taps her fingers against her leg, pursing her lips. “Nothing more?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy glares at her. “And my friend.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Octavia lets out a small snort. “Right,” she drawls. “Your good <em>friend</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her brother gives her a long suffering look. “Is there actually a problem with my word choice or are you just here to give me shit about Clarke?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Give you shit?” Octavia puts a hand over her heart in mock indignation. “I would never.” She certainly would, and always will, of course. It’s her right as his sister, for putting up with all his nonsense over the years.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Seriously, O.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tilts her chin in consideration. “Read it again for me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oso op, Klark nou jos laik Wanheda, em laik ai houmon,” he reads, then looks back at Octavia expectantly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She suppresses the urge to laugh. “Sounds good to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy looks at her doubtfully. “Really?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>His wife! </em>Octavia squeals internally, immeasurably pleased.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really,” she says innocently, patting her brother on the shoulder. God, she wishes she could be there when he actually gives the speech. She wants to see Lexa’s stupid face when she hears Bellamy read this in front of the whole damn Coalition. “I think it’s the perfect word.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>18. Bellamy</em> </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The trip to Polis is tense, the atmosphere in the rover sharp and uncomfortable. They’ve agreed Clarke can come along up to the city limits, but she has to stay hidden in the rover until Bellamy gets back. She doesn’t love the plan, he can tell, but she accepts it without a word.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke sends him into the city with a tight hug and dry eyes, her lips pressed tightly together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s going to work,” Bellamy promises. “This is it, Clarke.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gives him a terse nod and climbs back into the rover, hood pulled low over her face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The speech goes off without a hitch, in his own humble opinion. He only stumbles over a few words, but he hits his key arguments sufficiently hard, and by the impressed looks of the ambassadors, he’s made his point.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa, on the other hand, looks stricken. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s such an unfamiliar look on her, such obvious emotions, that Bellamy almost wouldn’t recognize her if she hadn’t been in the room the whole time. It makes her look— younger, he thinks. Makes her show her age, or lack thereof. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He begins to understand why she usually hides this face. It makes him feel almost bad for her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Commander stands and paces to the window beside her throne, looking out upon Polis with her hands clasped behind her back. Bellamy watches her anxiously, waiting for her verdict.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a while he sees her shoulders sink, and Lexa turns back to the meeting, expressionless mask carefully reimposed. With quiet steps, she returns to her throne, chin lifted regally. “I have heard your testimony, Bellamy Blake, and I deem it worthy of consideration.” His heart leaps in his chest. His mouth opens, moving as if to speak, but she holds up a hand to stop him. “I will allow this to be decided by a two-thirds vote of the ambassadors. After all, it is the individual clans who must accept the risk of Wanheda’s continued freedom.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy blanches, looking around the room. Skaikru has only formalized alliances with four of the eight clans he needs. They’ve made tentative overtures with Delfikru and Podakru, but it is unclear if those interactions would have been passed on to the Coalition ambassadors, and after the disaster that was the Podakru summit, Bellamy is unsure if that’s a good or a bad thing. Azgeda is out, and Sangedakru’s vote generally follows where Azgeda leads. They need at least two, maybe three votes from the four remaining clans, with which Bellamy and Skaikru have no experience.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Azgeda ambassador goes first. “I vote no. Wanheda is a danger. My people should have the right to defend themselves.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I vote no as well,” says the Sangedakru ambassador. No surprises there. Bellamy is glad to have gotten those out of the way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We missed Wanheda on your last visit to Trishanakru. Hopefully next time she can join you.” The Trishanakru ambassador gives him a fond nod. “We vote yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Trikru ambassador, a middle aged woman that Bellamy doesn’t know personally, jumps in next. “Wanheda ended the reaping when she brought down the Mountain. We owe her the debt of many lives. Trikru votes yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Boudalan votes yes,” interjects the elderly man to Bellamy’s left. The ambassador gives him a quivering smile. “Such a speech sways my old heart.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ouskejon Kru have not had the chance to make Wanheda’s acquaintance.” Bellamy turns his attention to the Blue Cliff clan ambassador, a striking woman with her hair pulled back in tight braids. Her expression is apologetic, and he feels his heart sink. “I cannot judge her character on your words alone. For this reason, we vote no.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Delfikru votes yes,” says Oran, the ambassador Bellamy had met in the snow. “We anticipate a happy and prosperous relationship with Skaikru.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A young man slumped in a chair across the room gives a bored shrug. “Wanheda and the Mountain are far from our territory, so why not? Ingranrona votes yes. Feel free to come see the plains someday, we could use some excitement.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” the Floukru ambassador says with a smile. “Tell Wanheda my son Bana says hello.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a yes for Louwodaklironkru as well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s heart races, beating like a drum inside his chest. He wheels to face the last two ambassadors.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man from Broadleaf clan frowns. “We appreciate what Wanheda did when she brought down the mountain, but I fear her presence is a threat we cannot justify. I’m sorry, Yujleda votes no.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy turns to look at the Podakru representative, his eyes pleading. A rock sinks in the pit of his stomach as she hesitates.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well?” asks Lexa. Her tone is almost as tense as Bellamy feels, and he has a flicker of sympathy for the woman. “What says Podakru?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Podakru woman gives Bellamy a thoughtful look, and smiles. “Podakru looks forward to your visit. Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy lets out a deep breath, closing his eyes in relief. He turns to Lexa, who face is unreadable. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is done then,” the Commander says. “The bounty is cancelled. Wanheda is a friend to the Coalition. Any further attacks on her will not be tolerated.” She waves a hand at the ambassadors. “You are dismissed.” Bellamy turns to leave, but she calls him back. “Wait. Not you, Bellamy Blake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can hardly think through the blood pumping joyously through his ears, but he schools his expression, bowing respectfully. “Yes, Commander?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarke is now free to go where she wishes, but it will still be unsafe for her. I should like to speak to her. She will be allowed to leave afterwards, of course.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy nods. “I will send for her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa fixes him with a hard look. “There is no need. She is outside the south gate, is she not?” He swears internally, suppressing a flinch. Letting Clarke come had been stupid. What if the speech hadn’t worked? What if they’d lost the vote? “Go collect her and come back. I will have a room prepared for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t move. “Why should I trust you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes soften infinitesimally. “You care for her a great deal.” It’s not a question, but Bellamy nods anyways. “Good, she deserves that. She will not come to harm here, nor will I keep her against her will. You have my word as Heda.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Some of us remember exactly how much your word is worth,” Bellamy grits out. “What would you have done, if the vote had gone the other way?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa stands, rising from her throne. “I wouldn’t have put it to a vote if I didn’t know the outcome. Believe it or not, I care about her as well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy looks her hard in the face, searching for cracks in her facade. What he finds is a glimmer of something all too familiar. Something he sees in the mirror often. Something he trusts. “Oh,” he says, dumbstruck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa glowers at him. “Will you bring her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Bellamy mumbles. “I guess so.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He goes to get her alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy can feel his heartbeats rising with each step he takes towards the rover, towards Clarke. He catches her eye in the mirror as he approaches, and she turns bodily to look at him, her expression full of worry. He gives her a small smile, and nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a cry she flies from the rover, slamming into his arms. He scoops her up with a laugh, spinning her in the air, her arms wrapped around his neck, face pressed into his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You did it,” she breathes, squeezing him tightly. “I knew you could do it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy laughs, he chest light. “That’s good, because I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They grin broadly at each other, pulling back from the embrace. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So what now?” Clarke asks breathlessly. “Podakru?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy winces, running a hand through his hair. “Not just yet. Lexa wants to see you first.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke’s expression sours. “Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know, but—” Bellamy sighs, thinking of the genuine emotion he’d found on the Commander’s face. “She said she just wanted to talk to you, and I believe her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really?” Clarke gives him a long look then sighs, shrugging. “Okay. I trust you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shakes her head fondly, tugging at his hand, dragging him back towards Polis. “Besides,” she says. “I want to see the city.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>19. Clarke Griffin</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Polis is overwhelming, to say the least.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke feels out-of-place here, in such a crush of people, and the looks she’s getting— She stands out like a beacon, her hair and her Skaikru clothes combining to shout <em>I’m Wanheda, run and hide</em>. Steeling herself, she wraps her Louwodaklironkru cloak a little tighter around her body.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy at least knows where he’s going, weaving easily through the streets towards a large tower that rises out of the center of the city. He looks— natural here, at ease. The crowds which make Clarke a little claustrophobic seem to simply urge him on. She watches as he digs a ration pack and a small carving out of his pack for a little girl on the street and smiles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She likes it. She likes to see him happy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re met at bottom of the tower by a couple of guards. Clarke is immediately wary, but they just direct her and Bellamy into an elevator, which lifts them up through the bowels of the building.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re let out on a floor that’s relatively high up, directed into a room draped in cloths of bright colors. One bed, of course, but that’s to be expected at this point.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke moves immediately to the balcony, looking out over the city. The view is amazing up here, the land stretching off into the distance, beyond city limits. She can see mountains and valleys, trees and rivers. She think in one direction she might even be able to catch a glimpse of the ocean.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy clears his throat behind her, and she turns to find him watching her with an amused expression, arms crossed over his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Just wondering if I’ll ever be able to get you to come back home with me.” There’s a touch of some real worry in his voice. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why would we go home?” Clarke laughs at his bleak expression, moving to rest a hand on his arm. “We can go anywhere in the world now, and you just want to go home?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy smiles. “Eventually?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods, looking at him fondly. “Of course, just as soon as we see it all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs. “That’s ambitious.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shrugs and moves back to the balcony, looking out over the city again. “What can I say? I’m feeling cosmopolitan.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, cosmonaut.” Bellamy pushes off the wall, coming to stand next to her, his forearms resting on the railing. “Where to first?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Podakru,” Clarke says, serious again. She thinks about the Podakru second whose experience with the Skaikru council mirrored her own. “We made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, then what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke hums, thinking. She bites her lip and points out over the horizon, towards the west. “There maybe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy chuckles. “The Plains Riders did invite us to visit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods, grinning. “Not sure we can steal the rover that long though.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke feels a rush of energy. The weight of the bounty, the weight of being stuck in Arkadia, the weight of holding Bellamy back; it all falls away, and her future feels open again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She lets out a satisfied sigh. “We’ll figure it out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turns away from the balcony, moving back into the bedroom, and Bellamy follows. The bed they’ve been given is big, probably bigger than the bed they’ve been sharing at home, and covered in lots of little pillows. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You want the left side?” Clarke asks, knowing full well he wants the right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy makes a face. “That’s fine, I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She laughs, shucking off her feathered cloak and dumping it next to the left side of the bed. “You’re such a liar.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah well—” His gentle ribbing is cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway. They both stiffen, turning towards the interloper. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a small man with designs shaved into his head, wearing a set of brown robes. He bows towards them. “Heda requests your presence.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke clenches her teeth, dreading seeing Lexa again. The last time was when she’d turned her back on Clarke at Mount Weather, and she’s not eager to rehash that. Still, she nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy makes to follow her but the man stops him with a hand on his chest. “Just Wanheda, please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy looks ready to argue, his face reddening, but Clarke shakes her head. “It’s fine. I’ll see you soon.” He turns his eyes to her, his gaze almost— lost. She doesn’t understand it. “Seriously, I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods stiffly, stepping back. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She thinks about his expression as she follows Lexa’s toady into the elevator, which starts to rise. Sometimes, with Bellamy, she almost thinks he might— but no, that couldn’t be it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The elevator opens directly across from the throne room, its door wide open. She immediately sees Lexa, her eye-makeup and stiff posture so intensely familiar it’s like deja-vu. The Commander looks exactly the same, but Clarke has changed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She walks calmly into the room, dropping respectfully to her knees at the foot of the throne. Like a subject. Her mind rebels at the action, but it’s what’s necessary. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarke,” Lexa says. “It is good to see you again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Is it?</em> Clarke wonders. She doesn’t necessarily agree with that assessment. Still, she keeps her expression empty. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke rises from her knees, meeting the other woman’s gaze. “Commander.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa frowns slightly at the cool greeting. “I trust you and your husband have found your accommodations to be acceptable?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My—” Clarke startles, her intentionally placid demeanor breaking with confusion. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your rooms,” Lexa clarifies, her eyebrows pulling together. “The 15th floor has an excellent view—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shakes her head, forehead creasing in confusion. “Yes, the view is nice but— No, I mean— husband?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was told Bellamy Blake was staying as well, is he not?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke’s frown deepens. “Bellamy is here, but he’s not— we’re not—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa waves a hand. “I apologize if the words are different. Your partner, if you’d prefer.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right,” Clarke says, gritting her teeth. “My partner.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Congratulations, by the way,” Lexa offers, her expression a bit wistful. “When we last spoke— before Mount Weather, I wasn’t sure if— Well.” The other woman stops, her eyes on Clarke in a heavy way that makes her feel peculiar. “I was surprised to hear of your union. It must have been rather sudden.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Very sudden,” Clarke agrees. She and Bellamy are going to have to have a long talk when shegets back. “Sometimes it almost doesn’t feel real.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, well—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke cuts her off, mind racing. “Excuse me, just— how exactly did you hear, may I ask?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa gives her a confused look. “I mean, I’d heard the rumors of course. Half the ambassadors were sure you were married. Kimon from Louwadaklironkru even insisted you’d been given a bridal cape by the chief.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>A bridal— </em>oh, motherfucker. Clarke thinks about the feathered cloak she’d nearly worn to this meeting, sitting beside the bed she and Bellamy would inevitably share later that night. “Right.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa shrugs. “I wasn’t convinced, given— well. But then Bellamy announced it during his speech, so that was that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He did.” Clarke’s voice is completely flat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The other woman looks at Clarke like a Clarke’s playing a joke on her she can’t quite figure out. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke closes her eyes, letting out a puff of air through her nose. She swallows hard. “Do you remember exactly what he said?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarke—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke holds up a hand. “Please, just—” she gives Lexa a weak smile. “I haven’t heard his speech. I’d like to know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa gives her a long look, trying to decipher what this is all about, but opens her mouth anyways. “I believe he said<em> ‘Ai op, Klark nou jos laik Wanheda. Em laik ai houmon, oso hanofi, oso heda’</em>. You should ask him to read the speech for you. It was quite… compelling.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>To me, Clarke is not just Commander of Death. She is my wife, our princess, our leader.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke’s mouth falls open again and her cheeks turn pink. There’s no way— he couldn’t know. “<em>Houmon</em>. You’re sure he said—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lexa looks annoyed by the repetitive questioning. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m sorry, was it supposed to be a secret?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke exhales a deep breath, feeling her chest deflate in a rush of air. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” she says. “I guess not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>20<em>. Bellamy Blake</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The wait is— bad, frankly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s not sure what to do with himself, knowing Clarke is up there with the Commander alone, the Commander who looked at Clarke the way <em>he</em> looks at Clarke; so he does nothing. Just sits on the bed and waits.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s up there for probably less than an hour, and comes back into the room like a hurricane. He folds his hands over his lap, the picture of someone calm and composed and not at all deeply potentially jealous.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So how’d it go with the Commander?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke lets out a long huff, falling next to him on the double bed. Bellamy looks over at her, confused by the pinched expression on her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bellamy,” Clarke says, eyes closed, fingers massaging the skin between her eyebrows. “Why does everyone think we’re married?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—” His heart leaps. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lexa asked me how my husband likes the view.” He stares at her blankly, mind suddenly completely silent. Clarke opens her eyes and takes in his expression with a grimace. “I assume this is why we’re always given a single room, but I can’t for the life of me work out why it is <em>apparently</em> a well known fact that Wanheda is married to Bellamy Blake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Bellamy sputters. “When you say well known—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke gives him a look and he swallows. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watches anxiously as Clarke composes herself, taking a deep breath. “Bellamy, what would you say is the meaning of the word <em>houmon</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks at her in confusion. She should know this. He knows this, and she’s considerably better at Trig than he is. “Partner.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.” She raises one eyebrow, waiting for some sort of elaboration that he doesn’t know how to give. “What kind of partner?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like—” Bellamy starts, and then falters. “Like your mom and Kane. Or you and me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s not sure—what is she asking? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like my mom and Kane,” she says flatly. “Right. And that was the example you were given, when you were told the meaning?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well— yeah.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke sits up halfway, so she can look him in the eyes. He meets her gaze head-on, still not quite understanding the problem. “Bellamy, it means partner like <em>spouse</em>. Like wife, or husband.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy freezes, a deer caught in headlight, heart dropping to his feet. “Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks about Abby and Kane, about their casual intimacy even when working, and about Lincoln’s confused expression when he’d asked the question.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oh, fuck.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How long—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubs the back of his head abashedly, ruffling his hair. “Since before you came back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And you told—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Oh, </em>Bellamy thinks<em>, only the Trishanakru ambassador, Niylah, Pollux, pretty much the entirety of Louwodaklironkru, the Delfikru ambassador, Luna, the </em>fucking <em>bounty hunter, Octavia—</em>who he is definitely going to murder when he gets back—<em>Lexa and all of the Coalition ambassadors. </em>At least, that’s all he remembers. <em>Fuck</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He winces. “Pretty much anyone who asked. Or who didn’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right,” Clarke says, letting out a deep sigh. “Of course. And they all believed you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I— I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great.” She falls back against the pillows again, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Well, I guess now’s a good time to tell you that Lexa’s throwing us a feast to celebrate our marriage.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Bellamy blanches. “Shit, I’ll— I’m sorry, Clarke. I’ll tell her it’s not true. I know that you—” He stops himself, blushing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke moves her arm and opens her eyes, looking at him curiously. “That I what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That you had a thing for her,” he mumbles, aiming for nonchalant but hitting mildly nauseous instead. <em>And that she has a thing for you.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke laughs, the sound high and melodic, like music echoing through the room. He frowns at her. “What?” She laughs again, snorting ungracefully this time— which is <em>much </em>more her style— and Bellamy flicks her fondly in the arm. “Knock it off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry just—” she giggles, wiping tears from under her eyes. “How could I have a thing for her when everyone is convinced I’m married to you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scoots down on the pillows so he’s lying next to her, both of their heads on the same level, and glares at her. “Well, <em>I</em> didn’t know I was supposedly married to you, did I?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke lets out another laugh and his expression softens. Her eyes go a little wide, the smile slipping slightly from her face. “Bellamy,” Clarke says, her voice suddenly vulnerable. “Don’t you wonder why they never questioned it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well I— I mean—” Bellamy stutters, looking up at the ceiling, feeling heat rising on his cheeks. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, looking for a way to say that they probably just noticed how stupidly in love with her he was and figured it was mutual; but without, you know, actually saying that. “I thought it was obvious.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thought what was obvious?” Clarke prods him to get his attention, and he turns to see her biting down on her bottom lip. Bellamy suppresses a groan, propping himself up on one elbow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t make me say it, princess,” he says quietly, eyes fixated on her lip, plush and pink beneath her white teeth. “Not when you’re not going to say it back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face is so close he can feel the soft caress of her breath warm on his cheek. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, as her eyes flicker between his. “And what if I did say it back?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His heart leaps in his chest, crying something traitorous and bold and triumphant. “Say what back?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a determined look, she leans forward, pressing her lips softly to his, just a tender brush. She moves to pull back and he catches her by the back of her head, tugging her towards him and kissing her firmly, solidly, till her mouth opens in a gasp and her back arches, pressing her chest against his.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy smiles against her lips. “Oh,” he says, “That.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke swats his chest. “You are the worst.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He catches the hand with a grin, lacing his fingers through hers. She allows it, letting out a happy sigh. “Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. “But you’re the one who married me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wraps his other hand around her hip, hitching her up onto his lap. Clarke laughs, her arms winding around his neck. She kisses him slowly, sweetly, and it’s everything he’s ever dreamed it would be and more. More, mostly, to be honest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a while she pulls away, breathless, looking at him with soft eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The words rip through him like a knife, tearing him apart in the most pleasant way. He cups her cheek in his hand, her skin soft and warm beneath his palm. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I love you,” Bellamy agrees, his heart roaring in his chest. “God, I love you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke lands another slow kiss on his lips, one that leaves his blood rushing in his ears. She smiles. “Good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They spend the rest of the afternoon wrapped up in each other.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The feast Lexa is throwing them isn’t until the next night, so she sends them a bag of irregularly shaped coins to buy themselves food, apparently used as currency within the Polis limits.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke insists they stop making out long enough to go find dinner after Bellamy’s stomach rumbles for the fourth time, and he begrudgingly allows her to pull him out of the tower into the market.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wears her raven-feathered <em>bridal</em> cloak, tucked into his side as they wander through the Polis streets. He feels a rush of pride at the looks the two of them garner, because everyone knows she’s his, and he, in turn, is hers. Wanheda and her husband. Bellamy and his Clarke.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They head out to the rover after dinner to radio back Abby and Kane, letting them know they’ll be sticking around a few days. Clarke also gives them an offer from Lexa, to discuss options for joining the Coalition, and they opt to ride out to Polis immediately instead of waiting for Bellamy and Clarke to bring the rover back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That night, they crawl into bed warm and fed. Bellamy wraps his arms around Clarke like he’s always wanted to do, dragging her into his chest, holding her tight. They kiss quiet and sweet in the dark till they can’t keep their eyes open anymore, and he falls asleep with her back pressed up against his front, her head tucked under his chin, their fingers laced together, wrapped around Clarke’s stomach.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next day is more of the same, tender kisses and soft touches and a thousand whispered <em>I love you’s</em>, like he can’t get enough of the words. Lexa sends for Clarke sometime in the late afternoon to get ready, and Bellamy hates letting her go.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She seems to hate leaving just as much.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s almost worth it though, when he sees the result. Clarke is always beautiful, always perfect, but they’ve done her up like a real Grounder princess, in a real dress and everything. Her hair is braided intricately, her eyes painted with gold and lined in black. They’ve woven flowers into her blonde curls like a crown, and she wears her Louwodaklironkru cloak, the feathers shining brightly in the setting sunlight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do I look ridiculous?” she asks, spinning for him. The feathers float out around her like wings, and Bellamy swallows hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke bites her lip, uncharacteristically self conscious, and he doesn’t understand it. “Do I— do I look like her? Wanheda?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oh. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Bellamy promises. “You look like you. Just wearing some fancy clothes.” Clarke raises an eyebrow and he shakes his head defensively. “No, trust me it’s— it’s a good thing. I happen to really like you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles, kissing him softly. “I think I might like you too, Mr. Griffin.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His lips quirk up, their faces close together. “Really?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really.” Clarke spins away from him, flopping unceremoniously onto the bed in all her finery. She smirks, jerking a thumb across the room at a pile of clothes. “Don’t think they forgot about you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy let out a deep sigh. “Of course they didn’t."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The feast goes on longer than either of them really want it to.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s awkward, really, with Lexa leading the whole thing like it’s a state event, which in a way it is, Bellamy supposes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re presented as a couple to the arrayed dignitaries and guests, then to the public of Polis, via the balcony. Bellamy gets the idea Lexa is sort of making up the ceremony parts as it goes along. The actual eating section of the feast is thankfully short, with things moving quickly into a larger room with music and dancing instead. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s supposed to go until the bells start tolling to mark their union, but they don’t last nearly that long. Clarke forces him to dance with her for one song, and it’s enough. They end up stock-still in the middle of the dance floor, arms wrapped around each other, lips locked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After that it’s an easy decision to sneak back to their room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke shucks off her cloak as they enter, kicking off her shoes. She tugs Bellamy onto the bed by the hem of his Grounder shirt, and he crawls after her, chasing her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He catches her playfully around the middle, pulling her into his lap. Clarke's dress rucks up around her hips, and his hands skate up the bare skin of her thighs. She tilts her forehead against his, their mouths meeting in a hungry clash. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And—<em>god</em>. Bellamy pulls her in closer, till their bodies are pressed together from nose to hips. His fingers tangle in her hair, and the new kiss is not quite so clean or sweet as the ones they’ve shared before it, but just as good. It’s desperate, frantic, months of wasted time poured into their bodies and squeezed till it pops like an over-filled balloon.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His lips slide away from her mouth, finding her jaw, her neck, the soft skin behind her ear. His teeth find the curve of her throat, the line of her shoulder. Clarke moans as he explores her skin, just the way he’d imagined she would.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her hips start to grind down on his lap, seemingly of their own volition, and Bellamy pulls back, gasping. “We should—” he stutters out, mind cloudy with want. “Is this too fast?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke looks at him with wide eyes, her chest heaving. “Not for me, but if you want to slow down—” She laughs at his stricken expression. “Or not.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Definitely not,” he agrees with a smile. His fingers skirt the edges of her dress, slipping tentatively onto the soft skin of her belly. Clarke shudders, whipping the dress over her head in an instant. She’s not wearing a bra. Bellamy’s mouth goes dry, looking at all the exposed skin, just for his eyes, just for him. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke finds the closure of his pant with her fingers, looking up at him with questioning eyes. “We <em>are</em> married, after all,” she says innocently, and Bellamy laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wraps his hands around her ass and presses her back till she’s flat lying against the mattress, her knees hooked up around his hips. Her hands skate up his abdomen, bringing his shirt up with them, and he helps her pull it off him, tossing it carelessly to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke kisses him filthily, hot and wet, her efficient hands coming right back to the button of his pants. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I?” She whispers against his mouth, and Bellamy nods sharply.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a grin, Clarke pops the button and slides his pants down, pushing them down his legs with her feet until he can kick them off. It’s not very graceful, and he chuckles a little into the skin of her neck as he does it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re both down to their underwear now, their skin sticking together in the humid spring air of the city. Bellamy’s eyes trace the curve of her breasts and his hand involuntarily follows, cupping the soft mounds he’s thought about a few too many times. Clarke arches into his touch as his fingers find her nipples, pink and hard and perfect.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God,” she cries, bucking her hips against the length of his cock. He’s been hard for— a while now. Since the dance floor, at the very latest. “Can we—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy shudders, grinding his hips down against her warm center. His eyes clench tight, his lips sliding along the ridge of her collarbone. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her hands scramble to push down his underwear, his thick cock springing free eagerly. She’s not shy at all, he realizes, and it’s perfect. Clarke knows what she wants in all aspects of her life, this included. He really should’ve figured.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tilts his hips away as she attempts to close her hand around his cock, mouthing down her chest to her belly. The skin there quivers as his lips and fingers graze against it, and Bellamy grins, looking up at her face. “Ticklish?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke blushes, pushing his head down. “Get back to it, Mr. Griffin.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs softly, licking a line across the edge of her panties. “Yes, Mrs. Blake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy hooks his fingers into the worn elastic of her panties, dragging them down over her hips, slipping them off one leg at a time. When it’s done, he sits back and looks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s—perfect, down here just as much as anywhere else. He can’t wait to taste her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And so he doesn’t, leaning down and licking through the length of her slit. His fingers find her entrance, teasing at the warm wet heat inside her. Clarke moans and he closes his lips around her clit, one finger slipping inside her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” she breathes, and Bellamy echoes the sentiment in his thoughts. She’s so hot, so tight, her cunt gripping his finger like a vise. He pumps the digit in, then out, gathering up her sopping wetness and spreading it around the little rim of her perfect pussy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke gasps as he adds a second finger, and his mouth works her clit. Bellamy licks at her with vigor, driving her up towards her peak until he can feel her walls quivering around his fingers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her chest heaving, she tugs him up by his hair, pressing her lips to his wet mouth. Her tongue darts out, tasting herself on him, and Bellamy groans, his fingers sliding from her cunt to her clit, rubbing in tight circles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pulls back with a gasp, “Wait, I—” His fingers stop but she’s already coming, her cunt clamping down around nothing. The climax ripples through Clarke like a wave, Bellamy watching with wonder and her muscles seize and relax. When she’s done she smacks him lightly, giving him a pouty look. “I wanted to come with you inside me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s cock twitches, and he grinds it down against her wet cunt. Clarke’s head falls back, her mouth open, and her pelvis tilts up to increase the contact. “I think we can still arrange that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke’s hands tangle in his dark curls, pulling his lips to hers. “Please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now?” His fingers find the wet clutch of her cunt again, testing it out, checking if she’s ready. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods against his neck. “Now, please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Who is he to argue with that? He takes his cock in one hand, notching the head into place at her entrance. “Will you tell me if—” She tilts her hips and he sinks a few inches into her, the words leaving him in a rush of air. Bellamy has never been more grateful for the standard Ark issue birth-control implants in his life. “<em>Fuck</em>, princess, you're so good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” she whines, “Now fuck me, please”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy laughs, dropping a closed-mouth kiss onto her pouty lips. He shifts his weight forward, sheathing his cock fully inside her with a powerful thrust. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And—<em>Oh</em>. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. His hips start to move, a slow glide at first that turns into a quick slap of skin. His fingers slip down to work her clit and she clenches around him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s perfect, just <em>perfect</em>, her pussy wrapped around his cock like she was made for him. Her eyes are closed tight, face pinched as he pounds into her cunt in long strokes, making sure she feels every inch of him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her hips cant up to meet his, grinding her clit up into his fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m close,” she moans, and it’s a sweet sound.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy’s head dips down and he kisses her hard, his eyes closing tight as he feel the tension in his belly start to peak. “Me too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s <em>really</em> close actually, the smooth stroke of his hips becoming uneven with each successive thrust. He presses down hard against her clit, desperately trying to hold on long enough. “Will you come for me, Clarke?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And she does, her walls clenching rhythmically around his cock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck, Bellamy I—” her eyes open, meeting his, and he’s never seen a more beautiful color than the bright electric blue ringing her blown pupils. Her hand slides down from his hair to cup his cheek. He leans into her touch, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The words ripple through him, his body trembling. “Fuck, I love you, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The flowers in her hair are crushed, petals strewn throughout the sheets. Her makeup is smeared, her face bright with exertion, and he thinks he's never seen anyone quite as beautiful as Clarke is, in this moment. She pulls him down till their chests are touching, her lips finding his in a gentle kiss that pushes him over the edge. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck—Clarke,” he cries, his cock twitching as he spills hot inside her tight cunt. He presses a tired kiss to the sweaty skin of her shoulder, feeling himself soften inside her. Bellamy pulls out of Clarke gently and rolls off her, watching his spend slip out between her thighs. “God, I fucking love you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He flops back onto the mattress, fucked out and incandescently happy. Clarke scoots up the bed with a sigh, curling her body into his side. Bellamy wraps his arm around her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So that was nice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tilts his chin to look down at the top of her head, grinning wildly. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke lets out a small laugh, sliding her hand across his stomach. “You know, fine. I guess.” She shrugs lazily. “We should probably go again to be sure.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not sure?” Bellamy asks, his tone playful. “About this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Clarke hums. “I think I’ll need a refresher in… maybe an hour.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy leans back happily, one of his hands tucked behind his neck. The fingers of his other hand trace Clarke’s hipbone. “So,” he says, his tone light. “What are we going to tell Abby and Marcus when they get here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke yawns in his arms. “That—” she mumbles sleepily against his chest, “—is your problem.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He snorts, tapping at the point of her elbow. “Oh yeah? How do you figure?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not my fault you’re so bad at Trig you convinced an entire Coalition of Grounders we were married.” Somewhere outside their room, bells begin to toll, ringing loudly throughout Polis in honor of said marriage.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees with a sheepish laugh. “Sorry about that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighs, nestling further into his body. “It’s okay,” Clarke says, her eyes fluttering closed. “I think I kind of like being your wife.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His heart flares warm in his chest. “Yeah?” Clarke nods, and he wraps his arm around her just a little bit tighter. His lips press into her hair, the corners curling up into a smile. “I think I like being your husband, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">****</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>21. John Murphy</em> </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He weaves his way through the crowds in Polis, hood pulled up over his head to shield his face.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Murphy likes the anonymity that the city offers. He likes the bustle, the constant hum of people. He <em>really</em> likes that those people use money instead of just barter system, because it means all he has to do to get a drink is nick somebody’s purse. Much cleaner than his prior gig.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">He meets Emori at their usual haunt, jingling the fruits of his labors jauntily as he sits down. Her face lights up as she hears the heavy clank at the bottom of the coin purse. “Is that—?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">“Hundreds pieces?” Murphy drawls, a smirk curling one side of his lip. “Why, yes, I do believe it is.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">Emori and him had met in the woods a few months earlier, after Murphy ditched Jaha’s expedition to the City of Light. It was an unusual stroke of luck for him. Though neither of realized it at the time, both were attempting to run a con on the other. By the time they finally figured it out, there was too much mutual appreciation for either of them to bother being mad.It was a match made in heaven, really.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">Murphy slides into the seat next to her, dropping a couple coins onto the bar. He signals the bartender, who nods in response.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">“Good day?” Emori asks, eye twinkling in amusement at the self-satisfied look on Murphy’s face.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">“Definitely not the worst,” he says. “But what’s with all these fucking bells? I can’t hear myself think.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">Emori shrugs. “A wedding, I heard. Or a wedding feast.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus.” Murphy sneers. “Who’s fucking wedding could possibly be worth all this?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">“You’re Skaikru, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you know?” The bartender interjects, passing them their drinks.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">Murphy takes a gulp of the alcohol, feeling it burn as it slides down his throat. “I haven’t been home in a while. Fill me in, would you?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">The bartender gives him a look. “Wanheda, of course. Who else?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">His lips press together and his nose wrinkles. “Who?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">Now he’s gotten the attention of several of the bar patrons as well. The bartender frowns. “The Mountain Slayer. Princess of Skaikru.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">Ah, right. <em>Mountain Slayer</em> is a new nickname, but <em>Princess</em> definitely isn’t. Murphy clicks his tongue in recognition. “Blonde? Big blue eyes? Mildly terrifying?” The bartender nods slowly. “Yeah, that’s Clarke Griffin.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">“You know her?” The bartender’s voice is full of wonder.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">Murphy shrugs. “Of course.” This draws looks of awe from the people around him. Murphy starts to get uneasy, the attention disconcerting after so long of trying to sneak around. He takes another sip of his drink to cover up his discomfort. “So who’d the princess get hitched to anyways?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">The bartender shrugs, moving to wipe down the counter. “A Skaikru warrior. Bellamy Blake, I believe is his name.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">Murphy lets out a startled laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"><em>Yeah</em>, he thinks. <em>That checks out.</em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">Emori nudges him with her elbow. “What?” She asks, a small smirk on her face. “Is that surprising?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">Shaking his head, Murphy takes a long pull of his drink. “Not in the slightest,” he says, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Not in the goddamn slightest.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes this is 13,000+ words, yes I am insane, yes you're welcome, no I have not proofread it yet.</p><p>I am gobsmacked at the response this fic has had, and so very grateful. I love you guys, and I hope this ending is all you'd hoped for.</p><p>As always, I would love a comment or a kudo if you have one to spare.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>come yell at me on twitter @chronictonsil</p></blockquote></div></div>
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